A Big If
by belle0123
Summary: Mallory has been on the front lines of the second apocalypse for years when she's given a choice - keep fighting an unwinnable war, or go back and take a chance on the devil she knows. If he can be redeemed at all, that is. And if they can keep him from the far-reaching clutches of Miriam Mead. Plus there's the matter of if they can restore her powers, and that's a big fucking if.
1. Chapter 1

2036

MALLORY

PORTLAND, OREGON

They had lost. No official word had arrived, but she could feel the change in the air, smell death on the wind. She supposed she should be used to it by now, but it was a scent that still turned her stomach.

Closing her eyes and dropping to her knees, she allowed herself a moment to run her fingers through the overgrown grass of the lawn. Mallory had always felt the strongest connection to the ethereal realm when she was surrounded by nature, and her magic had been at its peak when she was outdoors.

Now, though, she barely felt a spark. The ethereal realm was almost closed to her, and her power was fading every day. Not that it mattered much now, she supposed. Unless someone had managed to devise an 11th hour Plan B (Plan X? Plan Y? It seemed all they ever did was hatch plans), she doubted she would survive past today.

 _Cordelia, why aren't you here?_ she asked herself. _You always had hope, you always found another way. Why can't I find it?_

Time was something Mallory knew she had in short supply, and spending it crying seemed like a waste, but she couldn't hold back the tears that welled in her eyes. She had been given a second chance to save the world, and she'd squandered it.

She had failed everyone - her former Supreme, her long-dead sisters, her surely doomed friends. Her job had been to save them, and instead she'd only succeeded in buying the world a few extra years, years that had been full of blood and pain and suffering.

 _But there was some love too,_ the voice in her head piped up. _Finn, Elle, Siobhan. You're running out of time_. _Find them. Say your goodbyes. It's all you can do now.  
_  
Picking herself up from the ground, she took one last look at the sky. It was overcast, but in the distance, she could see a faint glow from the sun as it broke through the oppressive cloud cover.

 _If only we could find a way to do the same._

With a heavy sigh, she turned and made her way back inside the mansion.

It was hard to believe the Pittock Mansion had been a tourist attraction less than a decade ago. The formerly opulent estate had been converted to a quarantine zone during the Great Flu outbreak, but even the threat of infection hadn't been enough to stop it from being overrun during the riots.

Most of the furnishings were gone – stolen by looters, burned for warmth, or broken up to board up doors and windows. Now, rubbish, soiled medical supplies and old mattresses stained with blood, pus and vomit were strewn across the floors where period settees and gold painted tables had once been proudly displayed. It wasn't much of a place to call home, but it had been a refuge for Mallory and the other survivors for the past six months.

One thing that remained mostly unchanged was the grand old staircase. The marble was damaged in places and the wooden handrails had lost much of their lustre through lack of care, but it was otherwise still an impressive sight.

It was a place the group often found themselves meeting – there was some small comfort to being in a place that seemed largely unchanged despite the chaos surrounding them.

Today was different though. Mallory could cut the anxiety and confusion in the air with a knife. The entire household – which Mallory noted with dismay was now fewer than a dozen people – seemed to be gathered at the stairs, and through the low stream of chatter she could hear Finn and Elizabeth's names being spoken. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest as a surge of panic ran through her.

"Mal?" A familiar voice broke through her racing thoughts.

 _Siobhan._

Mallory turned to face the petite Irishwoman and was stunned by her appearance. Siobhan was usually a sight to behold, with thick red curls and a figure so curvaceous it was nearly cartoonish. Her girlish features gave her something of an ageless quality, and she possessed the kind of megawatt smile that transformed her pretty face to into one that was downright gorgeous.

Right now, though, worry was so deeply etched into her face that she looked older than her 36 years, her usual beauty hidden by a deep and heavy grief.

"Von?" It came out as barely more than a whisper, Mallory's already pounding heart feeling as though it was about to burst through her chest when Siobhan flung her arms around her neck and began to softly weep into her shoulder. "What's happening?"

"Finn's dead, Mallory. I can't feel Aengus' energy anymore. Either can Elle. We have to assume Devan's taken the bridge."

 _No. Not Finn._ Mallory felt like someone had punched her in the gut and cut off her air supply simultaneously. She shouldn't have been surprised – he was leading the charge on the Hawthorne Bridge after all – but he had made a habit of surviving the near-impossible for so long that Mallory had started to see him as almost invincible.

She hadn't expected them to win this fight, but she'd been so sure he, at least, would return. She had always pictured him by her side at the end.

 _Of course it was the fucking Hawthorne Bridge,_ she thought bitterly. _Another Hawthorne, another Antichrist. The devil is many things, but original isn't one of them._

"Fuck, Von, I'm so sorry." Tears were streaming down her cheeks involuntarily, but she swallowed hard, burying her pain as much as she could. "I have to see Elizabeth, where is she? Why is everyone out here?"

"She wants to see you in the war room," Guilt flashed across Siobhan's face. "The rest of us…we're about to leave. She told us to run."

Mallory stared in disbelief. Elizabeth was not only a descendant of the bloodthirsty war goddess Morrigan, she was also Queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann, favoured people of the Celtic Gods. Rarely was a question posed where violence was not among Elizabeth's favourite answers, and fleeing a battle had never been an option before. "It's that bad?"

"The omens were clear. Staying was suicide." Siobhan wiped at her eyes. "That's not all. Mal, she's expecting to die here. I don't know what she's planning, she wouldn't tell me much, but…she abdicated the throne. She made me Queen." The redhead's voice became high with panic.

"It should have been Finn here, not me. I'm not like them, I can't…I don't have what it takes to do this…"

"Bullshit." Mallory took her friend by the shoulders. As a descendant of the goddess Macha, sister to Elizabeth's own goddess Morrigan, Siobhan was a member of the ruling class of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and a respected general and advisor to the Queen in her own right. She was the natural choice to ascend to the throne. "You can do it. You're strong. I know..."

She was cut off by a collective gasp filling the room. The sky outside was changing colour, and the light streaming in through the windows painted the mansion walls in fiery red.

 _Devan,_ Mallory thought. _He's not far now. I need to see Elle._

"Shit. We're out of time, Von." Mallory gently lifted her friends chin, so she could look her in the eye. "Trust me when I say you'll make a great leader. I love you. You have to go."

Siobhan's lip trembled, but she nodded resolutely, and Mallory knew that despite her doubts she would rise to the challenge of being Queen. "I love you too, Mallory. This isn't goodbye. I'll see you again, somewhere."

"Until we meet again, then."

They embraced, and Mallory could feel Siobhan's energy encompassing her. It told her more than words ever could.

The 'war room' Siobhan spoke of was, in reality, the former music room. The harp and piano remained in place, too large for looters to comfortably move and not useful enough to sell or utilise, now doubling as a makeshift table and peg board of sorts.

They'd moved much of the salvageable furniture in there, so they could convene comfortably to plan their next move. When they weren't meeting in there, it was largely considered to be Elizabeth's personal office – as both a Queen and leader by default of the Portland survivors, she was granted the space to perform her rituals and generally clear her head.

Mallory could feel the force of Elizabeth's power before she even reached the room. It was a dark energy, tinged with malevolence and stronger than Mallory had ever felt before, and it filled her with sorrow for her friend. Pain and sacrifice were a way of life for the leaders of the Tuatha Dé Danann, necessary to fuel their power and appease their Gods. The greater the suffering, the stronger they were, and it was evident to Mallory that her friend was in a world of pain.

She opened the door to find Elizabeth sat on one of the raggedy chaise lounges, a drink in hand. Red light poured into the room, leaving a blood-tinted glow across her face.

 _Kind of fitting_ , Mallory thought. _It feels like we're living in a horror movie. One that's heavy on foreshadowing right now._

"Mallory." Whatever Elizabeth was feeling inside, her cut-glass English accent was as calm and collected as ever.

She offered a small smile and gestured to an armchair beside her. Another glass full of liquid sat on a side table, a bottle of what was presumably some kind of alcohol next to it. "Join me. I've poured you a drink."

Mallory took her up on her offer. "What is this?" she asked, trying to inspect the worn label on the bottle.

"Whiskey. Nearly 150 years old. It's revolting, but it'll get the job done."

She took a sip. "Ugh. Tastes like the Devil's piss."

"Devan should be here shortly, I suppose we can always ask him if that's true."

"I'm sure he'd take that well." While this particular Antichrist lacked many things, Mallory thought a sense of humour topped the list. "Where'd you get this, anyway?"

"Georgiana. Apparently, she and Henry were saving it for his 85th birthday, but of course, neither one of them lived that long."

 _A day full of surprises._ Georgiana Pittock was their resident ghost, the original lady of the house. That she was no great fan of the former Queen wasn't a secret. This was her family home, and to say she had been displeased by another woman giving orders around the place was putting it mildly. "A toast to finally being rid of you, I guess?"

"More or less. She was rather pleased with the idea of marking the end of my reign and my imminent demise," Elizabeth laughed bitterly.

"She did make me promise not to come back and haunt this place alongside her when I'm dead, though. I'm under strict orders to move on to whatever pagan hell we worshippers of false Gods apparently go to after Devan's done with me."

"I'm sorry to tell you, but you made a bad deal. This whiskey isn't worth going to pagan hell over," Mallory joked. "I'm guessing you didn't want me here just as a drinking buddy, though?"

"Not exactly." Elizabeth traced a long, white finger around the rim of her glass, and Mallory felt another surge in her power. She was hurting badly. "Mal, I'm sorry…about Finn." Her voice was suddenly strained, her tone clipped. as though speaking was an effort. "I'd ask if you're okay, but I know you're not. I know what he meant to you."

Mallory looked up at her friend with surprise. She wasn't quite sure when she had fallen in love with Finn, but she thought she had kept it well hidden. Hell, it had been something she had hidden from herself for a long time, her growing feelings something she had forced herself to ignore until one day she found herself staring into his dark blue eyes and realised she would do anything for him.

She had fought it, believing her feelings wouldn't be reciprocated. Finn and Elizabeth had known each other for 20 years, and by all accounts he had been smitten with his Queen for nearly all of them. It wasn't a shock to Mallory. The Tuatha Dé Danann were all blessed with great beauty, but none more so than Elizabeth. She was truly breathtaking, her dark eyes fringed with long black lashes, her lips red and pouty, her porcelain complexion still flawless at 39.

Mallory, now 42 and all but locked out of the ethereal realm which granted the Supreme her radiance, felt like she must have been close to last on his list of romantic prospects. She couldn't compete with Elizabeth, Siobhan, or any of the Tuatha Dé Danann women. Even if she could, the thought of a rivalry with her best friend for Finn's affections made her feel sick.

In the past few weeks though, something had changed. His devotion to Elizabeth seemed to have waned, and he and Mallory had been growing steadily closer. Before he left, they had shared a tender moment, and had they not been interrupted by a group of survivors, she wondered what it may have led to. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of her had believed when he came home from today's battle, he would find his way to her.

"He…I…" The pain Mallory had been pushing away came roaring back as she pictured his beautiful, bright smile, the sunlight giving a glow to his sandy blond hair, and suddenly she was sobbing into her hands.

She felt movement beside her, followed by soft lips pressing against her forehead and cool hands gently cupping her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. The Tuatha Dé Danann were not known for their compassion, and Mallory was touched by the tenderness, especially as she could feel her friend grappling with her own grief and rage.

"I'm sorry, Elle," Mallory sniffed as she tried to regain some composure. "I should be looking after you. You cared for him longer than I did."

"Don't ever apologise. Finn was my greatest ally, my biggest supporter even before I was Queen. I owe him everything, and his loss is...excruciating. But he never was to me what he was to you." Elizabeth swallowed hard.

"I can't take this pain from you, as much as I'd like to. And I wish we could grieve him properly, but we're running out of time. I know it's cruel of me to ask more of you right now than I already have, but Mal, I need your help."

There was an edge of desperation to her voice that Mallory had never heard before. _We really are at the end_ , she thought.

She nodded tightly and wiped at her nose. "Siobhan told me you had some sort of plan. She seemed to think it was likely to kill you though."

"To be fair, anything I do is going to end up killing me." Elizabeth picked her whiskey up from the side table and threw it back with a grimace before pouring another, topping up Mallory's glass too. "We're past fighting now. I've got to make a sacrifice to the Gods."

"To defeat Devan? We've made offerings to your Gods before, Elle, and Danu hasn't deigned to get her sorry ass up off her throne and help us."

"It's actually your sorry arse I'm betting on helping us." The ghost of a smile flickered across Elizabeth's face.

Mallory was taken aback. "Me? How? Why?"

"Because you can do what I can't. What no one else can do. Mal, you've got to go back again. It's all we've got."

"You know I can't do that." Mallory looked pointedly at the other woman. That her powers were at an all-time low was something Elizabeth was well aware of. She had witnessed first-hand the effect Devan's of chemical weapons on the witches, after all.

Unlike Michael, who had gone straight for the nukes, Devan had eased into his apocalypse with a little germ warfare. After testing the waters with a few superbugs and weaponised viruses, he had moved on to a biological weapon created by members of the Cooperative, who had had ample time to grow and increase their ranks in the wake of Michael's death.

The weapon, which caused paranoia, rage and excessive aggression in anyone exposed to it in high enough doses, was first dropped in Manhattan, leading to it being not-so-creatively dubbed 'Manhattan Madness'.

The unique chemical compound flooded the amygdala with testosterone while stimulating the production of cortisol and triggering the 'fight' response within the hypothalamus. Friends, families and total strangers turned on each other, resulting in nearly half the population being wiped out in a frenzy of senseless violence.

It had been years since the last release of Manhattan Madness, but the lingering contamination continued to cause problems. While the witches had a certain degree of immunity which prevented them from feeling the full effects of the bioweapon, the prolonged exposure to testosterone was devastating. It inhibited access the ethereal realm, and as a result, their powers began to gradually decline.

Mallory had been affected for years and was now at a point where she was barely able to perform even telekinesis. Time travel was out of the question.

"You can, if you have my power behind you." Elizabeth insisted. The Tuatha Dé Danann drew their power from a darker place than the witches, and any effects from chemical exposure was counteracted by the strength they gained from being surrounded by misery and death.

The only variable for them was whether or not their Gods accepted their sacrifices and granted them blessings. "With a great enough sacrifice, Morrigan should answer my call to take my power and grant it to you. If this goes to plan, you'll be strong again."

"If?"

"If. A big if. In theory it can be done, but I've never witnessed power transference in person, so I can't exactly guarantee success. I imagine it'll only be temporary too, so we need to be ready."

"So, your plan is to pray really hard while you're killing yourself, in the hope your Goddess relative will then give me your power for a little while?"

"There's a little more to it than that."

"I think you've officially lost your damn mind, Elle." It came out a little harsher than Mallory intended, but the thought of her best friend dying over blind faith pissed her off.

The Gods hadn't been particularly reliable or generous with their blessings, despite it being a really fucking good time to lend a hand, in Mallory's opinion. The chances of this working seemed minimal. "Your Gods know the world has gone to shit, and they still haven't exactly been delivering on the help front."

"They've lost one of their own," Elizabeth exhaled heavily. "When Finn died, Aengus lost his last blood descendant. His connection to this realm is tenuous now, at best. If we die out, their power in this world dies with us.

"They're fickle, yes, but the Gods are selfish too, and they don't want to lose their foothold here. They're taking notice now."

She tipped a little of her whiskey into her hand, and Mallory looked on with interest as the liquid became thick and crimson in her palm. Bloody water was one of Elizabeth's most ominous omens, foretelling death.  
"I thought this was for Finn at first, but it continued even after I felt his death. I've consulted the runes, and the cards, just to be sure. It's for me. Sometimes it's for all of us. I get the same result if I choose to fight."

"And if you run?"

"Nothing changes my fate, Mal. But yours isn't set yet." She took Mallory's hands in her own. "If I do this, your fate – and Siobhan's, and everyone else's – it becomes undetermined. I know that's not exactly comforting, but it's a chance. If I'm successful, there's hope for us."

 _Hope_ , Mallory thought. _I guess you are here in spirit after all, Cordelia. But why does our hope always have to spring from sacrifice? Why is the price for hope always the people I love?_

"So, let's say you are successful," she sighed heavily. "And I go back and kill Devan. It won't destroy his energy. The Devil will find another host, and we'll end up back here."

"Mmm. I have some thoughts on this too, but I'll be honest, it's one of those bottom-of-the-barrel ideas that even I'm not convinced will work." Elizabeth pushed her long, chestnut hair back off her face. "What do you remember about the other Antichrist? The one before Devan?"

"Michael?" This hadn't been a topic Mallory was expecting. She hadn't really thought about the first apocalypse in a while – the memories were both painful and largely irrelevant to their present situation. "More than I'd like to. Why?"

"You said that he had wanted to be good, at least initially. Do you there was ever a chance for him to achieve some degree of goodness, or was he always destined for darkness?"

"These are some deep questions, Elle, and I'm no shrink."

"Perhaps not, but you can read people like no one I've ever known. I've always thought Devan was nearly devoid of any humanity, and I can't imagine him ever questioning his path or caring for another.

"I get the impression that wasn't necessarily the case with Michael. What did you get from him?"

 _Confusion. Frustration. A longing to be wanted for himself and not for what he could do._

It was true that Michael and Devan were vastly different. Mallory thought Elizabeth's take on Devan was pretty accurate – despite being born of two humans with cursed bloodlines rather than the product of a spirit and a mortal, Devan showed far less humanity than Michael. Whether that was innate or not, she wasn't sure – Devan had been taken from his parents at an early age and raised by Anton LaVey and his subordinates.

He hadn't aged as rapidly as Michael, taking his time to develop and mature into his dark power with the support and direction of the Church of Satan. If he had ever had doubts about his role in ending the world, they hadn't seen it, and everyone was expendable to him – he hadn't so much as blinked when they had destroyed the Church and with it, his twisted new 'family'.

Michael, by contrast, had struggled as Antichrist. He doubted everything, including himself. Madison had told the coven of her conversations with Constance Langdon and Ben Harmon, and while Mallory didn't put a lot of stock in either of their judgement and knew Michael was an expert manipulator, she believed Ben's claim that he had, at one point, desperately wanted to be good, and she believed Constance when she said his gifts of murdered animals were demonstrations of his love.

She knew first-hand that he had intensely loved Miriam Mead, and had both seen and felt his pain when the android version of his Ms. Mead was destroyed. He rewarded those who helped him – for a time, at least – and he was capable of loyalty and even mercy. He was a monster, certainly, but one who had never taken to the darkness with the gusto of his latest counterpart.

"He was evil, for sure, but also…kind of a lost kid, I guess." Mallory shrugged. "He was forced to grow up too quickly, handed too much power too soon and given no guidance on how to wield it.

"You know those kids that get famous at a young age, and have a lot of money and power but no consequences for their actions, so they grow up to be destructive, entitled assholes? Think that, but on a greater scale."

"If he'd had more guidance, positive guidance I mean, could he have been less destructive?"

"I don't know. Maybe? He had a father-figure briefly, and it was okay for a while, but when he started to manifest his power in…uh… _harmful_ ways, his dad gave up on him. The only one who didn't was that Mead woman, so he was devoted to her," Mallory tapped her lip in consideration.

"He could have gone the other way too though. If he'd had the time to really mature, and he'd had the people around him Devan did instead of frat boys and maniacs who were desperate to prematurely pull the trigger on the apocalypse, he would have wiped us out.

"We were lucky, in a way. He was smart enough to pull off a nuclear war, but not wise enough to know how to tie up loose ends first."

Elizabeth nodded, clearly deep in thought.

"Why are you asking me this stuff?"

"Because I think maybe we should bring him back."

"Wait, what?" Mallory's head suddenly felt like it was spinning, and it wasn't due to the whiskey.

"I know, it's entirely fucking insane, but hear me out. If you go back and destroy Devan, we know Satan will find another vessel and we repeat the cycle. What we don't know is what we're up against. The next Antichrist could be the worst one yet." Elizabeth paced back and forth in front of the harp, full of nervous energy. It was thoroughly unhelpful to Mallory's head.  
"We're at war, Mal. Knowing your enemy is an advantage. Might not be a huge one, but any advantage we can get, we need to take. We don't know enough about Devan to take a risk on him, and we know nothing about future Antichrists.

"We know enough about Michael that if we get to him early, maybe we can have some influence on him. We can buy ourselves some time to work out how to bind his energy, so it doesn't return again. And if that doesn't work, at least we have some idea as to what his next move might be, and a chance at preventing it."

"Quite literally better the devil you know."

"Exactly." Elizabeth stopped her pacing and looked straight into Mallory's eyes. "It's mad though, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

"Hardly surprising given the amount of chemicals I've inhaled over the last few years, I suppose. Do you have another plan?"

"Not even the start of one, no," Mallory sighed. "Elle, I think this is the last time jump I have left in me. The others took something from me that never fully came back, so if we make a bad call here, I don't think we can undo it."

"I don't-" Elizabeth was cut off as an intense wave of powerful energy swept through the room. "He's here. That's it. If we're doing this, we do it now. And by that, I mean I'm doing my thing, so be ready to do whatever you will when the time comes."

Mallory paused, her thoughts racing. On the surface, the plan made sense, but it was too simple in its presumption of being able to sway the Antichrist. Elizabeth hadn't known Michael, couldn't predict how quickly this could turn bad.

 _But then, we're in the worst-case scenario right now, so how much do we really have to lose_? _I'll have my sisters back,_ _and I'll find my new family again too. What was it you said, Cordelia? Satan has one son, but my sisters are legion, motherfucker. Plus, they say third time's the charm, right?_

"Fuck it. Upstairs bathroom. Now."

The bath was putrid, and the water was freezing. It was nearly as unpleasant as the last time Mallory had gone back, and she was quite literally dying for most of that experience.

She clutched one of Elizabeth's rings in her hand – a seventeenth birthday gift, received shortly before the discovery of her lineage and initiation into the Tuatha Dé Danann. They expected it to take Mallory back to 2014, where she would warn the teenage Elizabeth that the day was coming when she would need to ally with the witches to save the world, before setting off on her quest to redeem the fucking Antichrist.

She looked over at Elizabeth and was surprised by her expression. Her friend was a politician's daughter before she was a Queen, and she had developed her poker face from a young age. To see a look of pure, undiluted fear on her face was new.

"Hey," Mallory called softly. "You okay?"

"I'm terrified, actually. When I came up with this idea, I expected I'd be braver than this. The reality though…it's just hit me for the first time."

"Dying's not that bad, I promise. I mean the poisoning wasn't pretty, but your body kind of shuts down a lot of the pain. You don't have to do this, though."

"No, it's not that. Well, it is a bit, but it's not _just_ dying I'm worried about. I know that's going be painful. Very painful, actually, and I'm scared of that, but it's more…the other part." Elizabeth's voice was thick with emotion, her chest rising rapidly, tears falling to her cheeks.

"Mal, if this does work, all of this…it never happened. We never met, we were never friends, everything we went through is lost and I…you're like my sister, and I don't know how to say goodbye to you."

Of all the pain she had felt today, this hit Mallory the hardest. She was right. If this worked, their relationship would exist only in Mallory's mind. If it didn't, it was still the end, and there was no time for heartfelt conversations of how much they had meant to each other, how much they each had treasured their unlikely friendship.

"I won't forget us, okay?" Mallory was crying again, for what felt like the tenth time today. "I swear to you that I will find you, and we'll be sisters again."

Elizabeth nodded, swallowing more tears. "Just try to remember this version of me as much as you can. I was a horrible teenager. Pretty horrible into my early twenties too, I think."

"Finn said you were a little spoilt."

"To put it mildly. Don't be afraid to use my own words and secrets against me if I'm being a brat."

"I'll kick your ass until you're you again, promise."

"Good. In the new 2036, can we come for a tour of this fucking ugly mansion together and steal that whiskey? It's hidden behind a faux brick in the music room and used to have a painting hanging over it. Just remind me why I want to piss off Georgiana."

Mallory laughed through her tears. "Now that's a plan I can support. I love you, you petty bitch."

"I love you too." Elizabeth lay a knife on the side of the tub next to Mallory. "Just in case."

There was a loud bang downstairs as Devan and his crew forced open the front door.

"LADIES!" His voice rang out, loud and clear. "Aren't you going to come and greet me? I've brought gifts – I don't know which one of you had the little blond boyfriend, but you'll be pleased to know I've brought him home for you! Well, bits of him, anyway."

The women's eyes met, their expressions matching ones of disdain. This was typical Devan, no subtlety whatsoever. He was deadly, ruthless, fearsome, but dammit if he wasn't also hammy.

"Look away, Mal." Elizabeth whispered. "I don't want you to have to see this next part."

She began to chant something in Gaelic, and Mallory tried to turn her focus to a particularly interesting stain on the wall in front of her.

 _Is it blood? Is it mould? Who can tell? Kind of looks like a face from the right angle and FUCK I can hear them on the stairs…_

Elizabeth's chanting stopped, and Mallory braced herself for the death sounds. When there was nothing, she couldn't resist a look over at her friend. Elizbeth stood in place, very much alive, looking confused.

"It didn't work." Mallory wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

"I don't know what – oh. Danu." Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise before her jaw was ripped off with a hideous crunching and tearing sound, the giant red hole where her lower face had been spewing blood down her neck and chest.

Mallory screamed and squeezed her eyes shut. She could hear more ripping and gnashing, and wet, gurgling attempts to scream. It seemed to go on for a lifetime.

 _How is she still alive?_ Mallory thought wildly. _Stop hurting her, just let her die already!_

The gurgling mercifully stopped just as she heard the bathroom door swing open, and with all the courage she had left, she dared to open her eyes. Devan's figure stood in the doorway, peering in at her with a smirk on his handsome face.

"There you are…" he trailed off as he noticed the ruined pile of torn flesh and broken bone that had been Mallory's best friend just minutes ago.

He laughed, a hearty, delighted sound. "Is that the Queen? Now just what have you been up-"

A surge of power hit Mallory with a force so hard it blew the Antichrist off his feet.

"We just ENDED you, you pathetic fucker. Enjoy oblivion."

She felt a wave of triumph but had to hold back her delight at his shocked and angry expression. She could gloat later. For now, she had to remove her ego.

Mallory let everything go, and slipped beneath the water.


	2. Chapter 2

**2014**

 **ELIZABETH**

 **ETON, BERKSHIRE**

There was so much screaming.

People rushed past her into the street to help the gasping, bleeding boy. She considered going to his aid too, or at least appearing to – a part of her ached to be so close to the fresh flowing blood – but it would place her at the scene and she really didn't want to invite questions. Not that she could have answered them, anyway.

Pulling her collar up to obscure much of her face, Elizabeth ventured one last look at the dying teenager on the road. He looked so twisted, his arms and legs sticking out at strange angles.

 _Make that arms and leg_ , she noted wryly. The other was a good few metres from his body, still clad in his fashionable yet unflattering green stovepipe slacks. The blood stains were a marked improvement, in her opinion.

There was a very large wound at his groin, and Elizabeth wondered if his dick had been torn off too. She hoped so. Staring at his broken body, she felt a lot of things, but bad wasn't one of them.

 _It was a coincidence,_ she told herself as she turned from the scene and walked away. _Just because you wanted him to walk into traffic doesn't make this YOUR doing. It's just one of those weird coincidences, happens all the time. Undiagnosed depression, that's what they'll say. Or exam stress. No one will suggest it was a guilty conscience, but they'll all be fucking thinking it. Just so long as they don't think it was anything to do with me._

She made it a few blocks before the gravity of the situation hit her. She had lost a pretty big chunk of time from her day, unsure how she'd even made it out here. She had just watched someone die, and she felt almost elated. His last, pain-filled breaths and the scent of his blood set her heart racing with an excitement that bordered sexual. Her own blood felt hot, her vision still so focused it was almost too clear. She could see ants crawling on the side of a building across the street as if she had a telescope trained on them. Her wrist throbbed from her self-inflicted injury. She felt powerful. She felt wrong.

 _Oh my god, what have I done? I swear I didn't mean it. If I'd have known wishing he would die would actually kill him, I never would have wished it._

 _Yes, you would_ , a voice whispered to her.

Elizabeth spun around, panic coursing through her, but there was no one there. A guilty conscience played tricks on the mind. 

_I just wanted him to hurt, that's all..._

 _And he did._ The voice spoke so closely and clearly it couldn't have come from anywhere but her own head, but it wasn't her doing. _He deserved to hurt. Don't be afraid._

 _What is this?_ Her panic flared up again. _Am I possessed right now? Maybe I need an exorcism. Try a prayer, if you can't recite one this is definitely a demonic situation. Uh, the cross of Christ be with me, the cross of Christ overcomes all water and fire...every fire? Or is it weapons there? The power of Christ compels you, is that just a movie thing? Where the FUCK is my fucking rosary when I actually fucking need it?_

 _Don't insult us both with your prayers. Your blood is older than Christ._

 _WHO ARE YOU?_

 _Who are YOU, child?_

Elizabeth's internal argument was halted by a sudden awareness of something not dissimilar to static in the vicinity. Her heightened awareness was picking up on a strong power nearby, so strong she could almost see ripples in the air. It looked almost like it was searching for something, the ripples moving through every nook and gap, then moving back out, as if playing a game of hide and seek.

 _Whoever you are, voice in my head, is that you?_

There was a noise like a low growl in response. Not her mental guest, then.Whatever this was, the voice didn't much like it. Elizabeth was unsure how to feel about that.

She took a few more steps forward, reaching a street heavily lined with trees. She was tempted to keep walking and ignore the power source, but she wasn't picking up on any danger, and it wasn't like her day could get any weirder. Perhaps this was a good thing, a guardian angel come to take her demon away. Hell, maybe she'd find Alan Rickman there waiting to tell her she was going to Hogwarts. Murder via mind control seemed like a 'ten points to Slytherin' kind of deal.

Unsurprisingly, Alan Rickman wasn't wandering around Eton late on a Saturday night. Instead, walking slowly down the street was a petite, wavy-haired woman, clad in something lacy and black. She was more of a girl, really, barely older than Elizabeth herself, and beautiful in a wide-eyed, Disney sort of way. At catching her eye, the girl broke into an enormous smile, like she had spotted a dearly beloved friend she'd been missing for some time. The power ripples seemed to dissipate as she all but ran over.

"Elle," the girl's voice trembled with emotion, happy tears spilling from her large, doe eyes. "It's really you. I've been looking for so long..."

"What did you just call me?" Elizabeth's mouth dropped open. No one called her Elle, not since her mother was alive. She'd been known as Beth for years, despite Elle secretly being her preference. "Do we know each other?" She didn't know too many Americans, and she was sure she would have recalled this girl if they'd met before. She had something about her that Elizabeth doubted she'd forget in a hurry.

"Yes and no. You won't remember me. I'm Mallory. God, look at you, you're so young! You look so…I mean your cheeks…you're just…you're alive."

Mallory threw her arms around Elizabeth, pulling her in tight, and she wasn't sure whether to push her off, be polite and hug her back, or try to discretely call someone to come and save her. This Mallory woman didn't seem dangerous though, and making a scene or calling someone would require explaining what she was doing so far from the school grounds. Not worth the risk.

"That's nice of you to notice, but I'm in something of a rush, so," Elizabeth squirmed a little, hoping it would encourage Mallory to release her from the death-grip hug she had her in. It worked.

"Right, I'm sorry." Mallory wiped the tears from her eyes as she pulled back, still beaming. "I just need a few minutes, okay? I know this makes no sense to you right now, but I'm a friend. This sounds so crazy, but you and I…god, we saved the fucking world, Elle."

 _Ohhhh. Okay. Looks like I've found_ _the_ _friendly neighbourhood cokehead._

"Uh huh," Elizabeth nodded with a slight eye roll. "At George's, right? Look, I'm sure we had a great time, but it was a one-off, my memory of that night is pretty non-existent, and it's been a real fucking DAY for me, so perhaps we can catch up some other time?"

"What? Oh, no, I'm not…I'm serious. You and I fought together, Elle. In another time. I know I seem like some weird-ass stranger right now, but I really need you to listen."

"Mmm. I'm sure it's great stuff you've got, but I'm not interested, sorry. There might be some upper sixers at the pub down the road though, if you're quick."

Mallory sighed. "I'm not a dealer. Okay, let's try this another way. Your middle name is Orla, the name your mom wanted to give you but your dad said was too Irish. You hate onions to the point where you won't eat anything a sliced onion has touched, but you're fine with onion powder in just about anything and you don't think that's weird."

"It's not, it's a very different tex-"

"Texture, and the flavour is milder, I know. You'll pick up spiders with your bare hands, but you're irrationally afraid of hares, because you can't trust a rabbit that learned how to box. You have a small scar on your palm from when you fell off a bike you were racing to impress a boy. Do I have your attention yet?"

"I…how did you...?" Elizabeth struggled to find the words to express just how utterly bizarre this all was, but nothing was coming to her. Two people she knew had died today, and she was reasonably sure she had been responsible for one of those deaths. She was almost certainly possessed, some random woman was giving her her own 'This is Your Life' special in the middle of the street and talking about saving the world, and she just really needed a cup of tea and a good lie down.

"Did daddy send you? Are you a private detective?" It was a stupid question, but her mind was clinging to any explanation that could be considered rational, no matter how unlikely.

"No. I could tell you what I am, but it might be easier to show you." Mallory snatched a fallen leaf from the ground and placed it in her palm. As Elizabeth watched, the leaf transformed into a butterfly. It was pretty, but the obvious display of magic was the last straw. It made everything else she'd been trying to write off as coincidence, conscience or trauma too real. Elizabeth burst into tears.

"This can't be happening," she whimpered, letting herself fall to the ground and placing her head in her hands. "This isn't real. I'm sick, this is all in my head and I...I need to see a doctor, or a psychiatrist, or a priest, and you need to not be here."

"Elle," Mallory crouched beside her, her voice kind and sympathetic. "I know it's a lot to take in. If it helps, YOU chose this time for me to come to you, because you knew you'd be strong enough for this."

"Why the fuck would _I_ send you to speak to me? I don't believe in any of this. I'm Catholic, okay? I believe in Jesus, kind of."

Mallory chuckled softly. "You're going to kind of believe in a lot of Gods soon. I couldn't come sooner because you would never have believed a word I said if you hadn't already started experiencing some, uh, _strange_ things and seeing your powers develop."

 _My powers,_ Elizabeth thought wildly. _Yes, they're developing alright. From zero to murder in under ten seconds._

"You sent me because in a day or two, you're going to meet some new people and become part of a group that doesn't really care about saving the world, for a while at least. You might think you don't either at first, but you care very much, and you wanted me to tell you that when the time comes that I call on you for help, you need to listen."

"You know my daddy's already a Tory, right? Are you saying I'm joining them?"

"Uh, no."

"This is so confusing."

"I know. I promise It'll all make sense eventually. For now, though, it's better if I don't tell you too much. Just remember me, okay? I'm Mallory, I'm your friend, and I've got your back, always. If you need me, you'll find me at Miss Robicheaux's Academy, which is a place you're going to hear about a lot very soon."

Mallory handed over a small piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it.

"Take this. Get a phone that no one else knows about, save this number in it, and send me a message. It's my own secret number. I won't get in touch for a while, either until I need your help or it's safe for us to be in contact. If you're in trouble, call me. Yours will be the only number on the phone, so I'll know it's you and come running."

"Am I in danger?"

"No. You're gonna go off and do some pretty cool things, Elle, but unless a miracle happens, something dangerous is coming. When it does, we've got to be ready."

"How can I be ready for something I don't know anything about?"

"It'll become clear in time," Mallory smiled. "I wish we had more time together, and I wish I could speak to you again tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day for the rest of our lives. But I've gotta go, and I have to say goodbye to you for now."

This was clearly an emotional moment for the other woman, and Elizabeth felt slightly awkward at her relief that Mallory was leaving. She raised herself up off the ground, dusting off her skirt, ready to move on herself.

"Before I go, I need to know you're definitely across what I've said."

"You're Mallory. I have a secret number to call you on when I get my own secret phone. I can find you at Miss Robisomething's Academy."

"Robicheaux's."

"Miss _Robicheaux's_ Academy, and I need to help you with something that might not happen but probably will because the world depends on it, even if I don't really give a shit about the world. Have I got it?"

"You've got it."

"I've got some kind of brain tumour or something, that's what I've got. That's the only way any of this makes any kind of sense."

"You'll get some answers in a few days." Mallory sighed heavily, her eyes glistening. "I won't hug you again, because I'm a stranger right now, but I'm so happy to see you, Elle. I love you. I'll be thinking of you, sister."

 _That's so much creepier from a stranger than the hug would have been,_ Elizabeth thought, but she nodded and went with it.

"Well, goodbye then, Mallory."

"Bye for now, Elle."

With one final look at each other, they both turned and walked away.

In another life, Elizabeth thought she might have made a decent criminal. Maybe even in this one, if the whole killing people thing continued.

She had called a cab from a payphone, had it drop her a few blocks from St. Catherine's, paid with the cash she kept stashed in her bra for emergencies. She had left her phone behind before leaving the school grounds – not exactly a conscious decision, as she didn't really remember leaving in the first place much less leaving without it, but a wise one if she didn't want anyone tracking her movements.

She had crept back into the school grounds unnoticed and made it to her dormitory without any encounters in the halls. The only potential issue was when she had run into her Head of House in the common room, but her mumbled excuse about needing to go for a walk around the grounds to clear her head was accepted without question. It had been a traumatic day for her, after all.

When she finally reached her bed, her whole body was aching. She felt like she had run a marathon, and she could feel a migraine coming on. What she needed was sleep, the mercifully dreamless kind, and isolation from nosy people. Not for the first time, she was grateful she had a private room in the school's boarding complex.

 _Ambien should do it,_ Elizabeth thought as she reached into her nightstand. _Better take five, just to be sure._  
She threw them back without water, the short walk to the common room seeming an insurmountable distance in her present state. _And now we play the waiting game._

Her head was still a mess of jumbled thoughts and confusion, and while she tried to push the thoughts that she didn't have the strength to untangle away, they kept coming. A few weeks ago, her biggest problem was her stupid rivalry with Olivia, and now Olivia was dead, and that was just the tip of the iceberg of fucked up things that had happened today.

She thought about saying a prayer for Olivia's soul, but the Ambien was kicking in, and everything was getting fuzzy at the edges. What good did thoughts and prayers ever do anyone anyway?

 **THREE** **WEEKS EARLIER**

"Pardon me?" Elizabeth was sure she must have heard incorrectly. There was no way she was being made Senior Prefect instead of Head Girl, no fucking way. She set her barely-sipped tea down with enough force to almost send liquid spilling over the Headmistress' desk.

"I realise this is a disappointment to you, Beth, but Senior Prefect is also a very important role, one which we're confident you'll perform admirably." Headmistress Wilson smiled.

"I understand that, and I certainly appreciate the opportunity I've been given, but may I ask _why_ I was unsuccessful?" Elizabeth asked through gritted teeth. It was taking all her internal fortitude to maintain her composure. She was used to getting what she wanted, and she had very much wanted this.  
"You see, I had been under the impression that my _very public_ charity work had brought us some rather positive PR, and with it an increase in enrolments to St Catherine's. Given my perfect attendance, my academic record and my recommendation letter from not only our current Head, but two previous Heads, I must confess I'm a little surprised by this decision."

"We all appreciate your dedication to St. Catherine's, Beth. And we appreciate your father's, um, assistance in setting up some of these public relations opportunities. But there's more to the Head Girl duties than just being in the spotlight."

"Surely an ambassador to St. Catherine's should be comfortable promoting the school and our values?"

"Indeed, but there must also be a balance between being an ambassador and being a mentor to the other young women who attend our school. You have many fine leadership qualities, Beth, but you still have much to learn about being a leader for _all_."

 _Oh, believe me, I'll be leading the cuts into ALL your government funding, bitch._

"And who has been chosen as Head Girl, Headmistress?" Elizabeth suspected she knew the answer, and it was turning her stomach.

"Olivia Evans will be taking on the position. I know you girls haven't always been very close, but I think working together like this will be good for the pair of you. I think you'll find her very sincere in her efforts."

"Am I not sincere?"

"Oh. Oh, of course you are." Headmistress Wilson sputtered, not expecting the question. "I simply mean…well…that Miss Evans has…um. She has some very interesting ideas, which we felt were worth giving a try, and that her style of leadership will complement your more…uh, _singular_ attitude."

"I look forward to participating in this little experiment, then." Elizabeth rose from her chair, ending the meeting. There was nothing left she wanted to hear, and her anger was growing by the minute. She wanted someone's head for this.

"Elizabeth. Don't take this personally. You have a very bright future ahead of you, you just need a little time to grow into yourself. Sometimes we get a bit caught up in our own bubbles, and a few _outside_ influences can do us a world of good. Learning from others, and taking the time to listen to them...you're a very bright girl, and I think you'll find it very illuminating if you're willing to be open-minded."

 _Open-bloody-minded? At a Catholic girl's school? That's a bit fucking rich._

"Thank you, Headmistress Wilson. I appreciate the advice." Elizabeth walked out of the room, her jaw clenched. As she closed the door, her still-full teacup shattered, cold tea flying into the Headmistress' face.

"You have to learn to be a leader for _ALL_." Elizabeth's imitation of Headmistress Wilson was decidedly unflattering. "Can you believe it?"

She paced the common room angrily, her face fixed in a scowl.

"She's an idiot, Beth. I can't believe she'd say that to _you_ of all people." Jamie was her most sycophantic friend, a social-climber extraordinaire. As top of the house hierarchy, Elizabeth was assured of her devotion. "Everyone loves you."

"Well, maybe not everyone, but honestly, how can they inflict Olivia on all those poor little first form girls? She's so utterly obnoxious. And so boring it's practically a sin."

"That's true. She doesn't have a sense of humour, like, at all." Emily was another rich, pretty girl with an important father. "You can't even make a joke in front of her, she just doesn't get them."

"I mean, clearly she doesn't understand jokes, or she wouldn't have worn that patchwork-looking fucking travesty of a blouse to the Eton social last weekend." Elizabeth huffed.

"I don't know WHO they think is going to follow Olivia fucking Evans. Follow her to a cliff they could push her off, maybe." Jamie giggled.

"You're just jealous no one would follow you at all, Jamie." As if summoned, Olivia and her best friend Nicola entered the room. She smirked at Elizabeth.  
"So, you've heard the news I'm going to be Head Girl then, Beth? I was surprised, actually. I thought your dad might have bought it for you, much like everything else."

"I realise you have to work twice as hard as I do to come close to competing with me, Olivia, but I really can't help that things that are hard for you come naturally to me." Elizabeth flicked her long, dark hair over her shoulder and smiled serenely at the other girl. She had a trump card up her sleeve she was itching to play. "My daddy doesn't need to spend money on my grades. He uses his money to hire lawyers when certain journalists get a little too loose with the truth."

Olivia's cheeks burned crimson. Her mother was a journalist who had recently been suspended after a piece she wrote on alt-right branch of the Conservative Party, which included Elizabeth's father, had been dubbed libellous. It was a very sore spot for Olivia, who was immensely proud of her mother. "Everything she wrote was true, and you know it, Beth."

"That's really for the courts to decide, but given those supposed sources have yet to rear their heads-"

"Because your father and the rest of his cronies have paid them to shut up!"

"Such an obsession with other people's money, Olivia. It's a very nouveau riche trait, you know."

"Nouveau riche? Aren't your family from something nothing county in Ireland?" Nicola chimed in.

"County Meath, actually. Known as the Royal County. I'd suggest you look it up, but I've seen your grades." This conversation was getting a little too probing for Elizabeth's liking. Her father wasn't exactly proud of his Irish roots – to her mother's dismay, he had anglicised their surname from Ó Riagáin to Regan, and his own name from Caoimhín to Kevin. He never spoke his native Irish language, and Elizabeth had never even been to Ireland.

Sensing the discussion travelling down a path she didn't care to take it, she opted to shift gears.  
"I'm getting hungry. Anyone got a protein bar on them? Preferably a chocolate Atkins, or one of the cookie Quest ones?"

"Maybe try eating a carb for once, Beth." Olivia sniffed. "Perhaps you wouldn't be so fucking mean if you ate some pasta every once in a while."

"Let's ask Nicola if that's true," Emily smirked. "I heard from Ian that she's been on a _high protein_ diet herself lately." She mimicked a crude blow job, and Nicola went white.

"You fucking bitch. Like you can talk."

"Relax, Nic. We're all just happy for you. Who knew you could catch a dick?" Jamie laughed.

"According to Ian, that's not all she caught."

"Ignore them." Olivia comforted her friend. "Let's leave them to their diets and bullshit. I've got meetings to plan for Term 1, given I'm going to be _Head Girl_. I suppose I'll see you next week at our first committee meeting, Beth, since you are my deputy?"

"Hey, who's the other Senior Prefect?" Emily asked. The Head Girl was supported by two Senior Prefects, who made up the leadership committee along with the general upper sixth prefects.

Olivia and Elizabeth shrugged in unison. Other players didn't factor much into their consideration – their rivalry with each other was all they really cared about.

When they'd met in their first year at St. Catherine's, they had clocked each other immediately, in the way overachievers quickly recognise other overachievers. Their game of one-upmanship hadn't ceased in 6 years, and moving into their final year of school, they only had a limited amount of time left to try and outdo each other. Both girls chose to ignore how alike they were in that sense.

"I'll see you next week, Olivia." Elizabeth smiled innocently. "Provided, of course, you're still here. What's the likelihood you can still afford the tuition after daddy's lawyers are through with your mother?"

"Fuck you, Beth. I'll be there."

Olivia wasn't at the committee meeting. She was too busy licking her wounds, now that her reputation was in tatters. She had been caught having sex with an Eton boy after their last social – not just any Eton boy either, but Jeremy, Emily's boyfriend. Elizabeth had been off doing photo ops as part of a profile on her father, and was sorry to have missed all the drama.

Emily was out for blood, and now all of St. Catherine's had heard about Little-Miss-Perfect Olivia Evans' big indiscretion. The gossip had spread rapidly, and depending on who you heard the story from, had included everything from anal sex to Olivia wearing one of Emily's tops during the encounter. Elizabeth took it all with a grain of salt – she knew Jeremy well, and he was a prize piece of shit in her opinion, plus he was far more to blame for cheating on Emily than Olivia was – but good gossip was hard to come by, so she reacted with appropriate indignation at each new sordid development.

Now that Olivia was the school pariah, Elizabeth had, of course, been only too happy to step up and fill her shoes. She had even been so kind as to take notes throughout the meeting, which she was now on her way to drop off to the missing Head Girl to-be. She was well aware her face would be the last one Olivia would want to see, and she relished the thought.

"Olivia!" Elizabeth knocked on the door rapidly, just long enough to be in the clear etiquette-wise, then barged into the room where she was taken aback by the intense feeling of pain and misery.

It stirred something in her, and her vision briefly clouded as something that had previously been dormant roared to life. She felt like she could smell the pain, the aroma so thick it was as though she was drinking it in. It was nourishing a part of her she never knew she was neglecting, and it felt wonderful.

In the midst of this glorious feast of sadness was a pain that tasted foul, though. Olivia's misery was delicious, her suffering truly scrumptious, but there was an undercurrent of violence that didn't belong. This was not the violence of battle, not the pain of sacrifice, not the hurt of physical pain. It was a violence that had no place in war, no glory in its triumph. The violence of a coward, an attempt to take power by someone weak. It had a flavour like Bitrex, and it made Elizabeth want to gag.

"Please, Beth. Not now." Olivia's voice was hoarse, presumably from crying. She didn't so much as look at the other girl, much less react with the anger Elizabeth had been hoping for.

"Olivia..." Elizabeth's sensory overload was beginning to subside, her mind putting pieces of the puzzle together. Her heart was pounding, her hands shaking, her mouth dry.

 _Oh my god,_ she thought. _It's not my place to ask questions, is it? We're not friends, she won't want me to ask, fuck, I don't want to know this. Jeremy might be an arsehole, but he's not a rapist, right? No, not right, you can fucking feel what he did to her._

"Shit. Fuck.I understand if you don't want to talk, but...Olivia...did someone...um, or Jeremy, make you do something you...didn't want to?"

 _Oh, great job, Elizabeth. Really caring and well expressed. God. Don't ever get into counselling._

"No-one believes me," Olivia was sobbing, and Elizabeth felt almost glued to the spot. This was something she was thoroughly unprepared for, and she felt like a little child again, desperately wanting an adult to come and fix things.

"Oh, Olivia," her legs were heavy as she walked to the girl's bed and sat on the edge. She reached out a hand to stroke her hair, then reconsidered.

 _Have some fucking backbone, Elizabeth._

She ran a shaking hand down the other girl's cheek, and was surprised when Olivia clutched it like a drowning woman would clutch a life preserver. They sat like that for a while, Elizabeth gently stroking Olivia's cheek and hair and whispering words of comfort until her sobbing began to subside.

"I...I'm so sorry Olivia." Elizabeth tried to steady her shaking voice. "Fuck. That's not...it's not enough. What can I do to help? We can go to the police, I'll tell them everything I know about him..."

"I went to the police. His dad's a judge, Beth," Olivia's voice was so thick with grief the words were almost slurred. "I was drunk, and they said there's not enough evidence. He says it was consensual."

"Let me talk to daddy. I'm sure there's something he can do, some strings he can pull, I mean, everyone owes him favours. He'll help if I ask him, I'm sure of it."

Olivia looked up at her then, and for a moment the grief left her face, replaced with something like pity.

"I always thought you were full of shit, Beth, but you really do think he's some knight in shining armour, don't you?"

Elizabeth didn't know what to say. She had believed that, for a very long time. The scales had begun to fall from her eyes, but coming to terms with what her father really was was a work in progress.

Her mother died when she was six, and with no other family around, her daddy was all she had. He adored his daughter, and he denied her nothing, provided she behaved, of course. And it was so easy to be well behaved! All it took was a kiss here, a cuddle there, occasionally sitting on daddy's lap with her arms wrapped around his neck – her daddy was so affectionate when it was just the two of them.

Even the things other people said about him – that he was racist, sexist, a far-right bully and power-hungry narcissist – didn't matter to her. They just didn't know the real him. He had lived through The Troubles, and as a Catholic, he had been largely shunned for siding with the Unionists. It had fuelled his break with his Irish roots and his desire to come to England, and given him a particular hatred for terrorism. He didn't mean to be racist, it was just his fear of terrorists and extremists that made him sometimes say racist things, or support racist policies.

It was the same with women. He loved women, he had a daughter after all. Plus, he was a handsome man who didn't hurt for female attention. He could be a bit old-fashioned, but times had changed, and how was he meant to know what you could and couldn't say these days?

Sometimes he shouted at people and they left looking sad or afraid, but Elizabeth didn't like to eavesdrop, and it was normal for adults to yell when something really upset them. Most of the time he was very nice to people, and sometimes he even gave them money for things like buildings or running campaigns. Those people really liked him, and would often tell Elizabeth what a great man her father was. It made her proud.

She had started at St. Catherine's when she was 11, and being a boarding school, it had put some distance between them. At first, it only made him seem more wonderful in her eyes – she missed him greatly, and she loved the weekends when she could see him. She could block out all of the little nagging voices in her head that told her something wasn't right about her daddy, and focus on all the things about him that were good and kind.

But it had also given her some freedom from his watchful eye, and last year her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She had spent an entire evening researching her father, and what she had found had made her physically sick. The only other people who saw him as the hero she thought he was were dreadful people, ones who wanted to take healthcare away from poor people and let children fleeing warzones drown, or starve, or be held in indefinite detention. The things he supported were about as far from the teachings of the church he claimed to be so devoted to as you could get.

After that, she found more and more excuses to stay in Berkshire on the weekends instead of going home to Belgravia. She avoided one-on-one time as much as she could – she now noticed that he only hugged her with his upper body when they were in public, but when they were alone, he embraced her with his full body, his hands sliding below her lower back, and she was revolted.

She wished she was brave enough to reject him outright, to break away from him and no longer be one of his pawns, but she was trapped both by residual loyalty and love and the dependence he'd nurtured in her. She would have to wait until she finished school to escape him, but even then...a university scholarship wasn't out of the question, but how would she live beyond that?

Elizabeth wasn't ready for a life outside of her privileged bubble. She hadn't held a job before, or lived on her own, and she was well aware she could be entitled and bratty. She supposed she could write one of those ghastly tell-all books, but the part of her that still loved her father could never betray him like that. Even if she could muster up enough malice, she knew what he would do to her in return. He loved her now, but his affection could turn quickly. He'd destroy her in a heartbeat.

Instead, she chose the path of least resistance, as much as she hated herself for it. She continued as normal, defending him publicly and avoiding him privately, willing herself to either accept and assimilate into his world, or to gain the courage to leave it for good. So far, neither option had eventuated.

Now though, she was willing to walk back in to the lion's den and ask for her father's help. She and Olivia may not have been close, but that didn't make her plight any more palatable. The thought of Jeremy getting away with his crime because his father was a judge was entirely unacceptable, and friends or not, she would fight tooth and nail to get justice for Olivia.

"I'll take the help where I can get it." She sighed heavily. "There must be someone who can do something. We won't let him get away with this."

Asking for her father's help had proven an eye-opening experience for Elizabeth. Until then, she hadn't realised just how entirely disposable women were to her father, or to powerful men in general. Perhaps even to men entirely, she wasn't sure.

She had swallowed her revulsion and given what she knew he wanted from her, batting her lashes, touching his arm, flicking her hair, tolerating his hugs and kisses on the mouth in ways she hadn't in years. He had lapped up her attention, and when he was putty in her hands, she had made her request for him to intervene in Olivia's case.

He had stammered out excuse after excuse as to why he couldn't help, but it all boiled down to the fact that Jeremy's father was a reliably conservative judge, and losing his favour could be costly politically. Pointing out that his son was rapist, one who had raped a girl from his daughter's school and could feel emboldened to rape her too meant nothing. He had even laughed a little at the suggestion, assuring her that no one would touch a politician's daughter.

She had lost her temper at that. She was disgusted that he believed your ability to get justice should be reliant on your parentage, and crushed by his reassurance that her own safety was dependent on her being the property of a man more powerful than Jeremy's own father. She had sworn at him, something she had never done before, stormed out of the house and blocked his number.

Reporting her failure to Olivia was the hardest thing Elizabeth had ever done. She watched the hope fade from Olivia's eyes and felt the sting of guilt pierce her very soul.

She had stayed close to the girl in the weeks after that, and attempted to silence some of the relentless gossip. Nicola was no help – her parents were close with Jeremy's, and they had business connections together. To support Olivia was to jeopardise that relationship, so she kind of hovered around her, forever trying to change the subject. Being believed but dismissed by her best friend was even more painful than everyone else in the school blatantly ignoring the situation, so Olivia had ended the friendship.

Elizabeth's own friendships were crumbling fast. She and Emily had found themselves in a screaming match in the middle of the dining hall, as Emily had 'forgiven' Jeremy of his cheating. He had told her that he was drunk, Olivia had come onto him, he had resisted but she had forced her hand down his pants and things had just progressed from there. Elizabeth knew she couldn't possibly believe this blatant bullshit. The disagreement had escalated to the point where they were flinging plates of grilled chicken at each other's heads, much to the delight of the other students, and both were given a week's detention.

Given the conflict with her prefect and Senior Prefect duties, Elizabeth's Friday detention was swapped for a Saturday morning. She didn't mind – her father had been calling the school, trying to set up a visit with his daughter, and she was grateful for the reprieve detention brought.

She spent the morning looking up counselling options for Olivia – if nothing could be done legally, at least they could try to work on helping her heal emotionally. She found a psychiatrist nearby who was apparently very experienced in treating sexual trauma (what the fuck did that say about the world that such a thing was needed in a place as apparently civilised as Ascot?), and like all very rich girls, she knew a doctor who would hand out a referral, no questions asked. By the time her detention was up, she had the psychiatrist's contact details and his next available appointment time, and the doctor's email referral sat in her inbox. Perhaps she had finally found a way to help after all.

She could feel the death in the room before she saw it. That dormant feeling inside her had come rushing out again as soon as Olivia's door had swung open, only this time it wasn't pain she was tasting, but blood. It was more intoxicating than the last time, and a part of her couldn't wait to get closer to it.

Olivia was half-sat towards the head of her bed, one end of her belt tied around a bed post and the other around her neck. She had clearly been dead a while, her lower extremities already turning purple with pooled blood that had stop flowing some time ago. A small amount of blood had leaked from her nose and mouth, and Elizabeth fought the urge to touch it – she knew not to touch the body, as much as her firing senses compelled her to.

 _Of all the ways I saw our rivalry ending, Olivia, this wasn't one of them._

She was crying now, hot, salty tears that she couldn't prevent. It felt almost wrong to be so sad for someone she had never been close to, but her grief was genuine.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Olivia was one of the few people who really challenged her, pushed her out of her comfort zone and spurred her to get more out of herself. Their competition had stop her from becoming complacent, and Olivia's jibes were one of the reasons Elizabeth had sought more information on her father. She may not have liked her, but she would miss her, and she suspected time would have her viewing Olivia through some rose-coloured glasses. This was no way for her fiercest rival to go.

She felt a wave of white-hot anger course through her. This was Jeremy's fault. Fucking waste of oxygen piece of shit. He should be the one at the end of the rope. He deserved to die. He wasn't righteous soldier, causing pain for the greater good. He was pathetic, but he was a threat.

A sudden pain ripped through her, and she dropped to her knees and screamed.

Everything after that had been a blur. People had come running and found her crying and screaming in front of Olivia's corpse, and she had been ushered away, wrapped in a teacher's arms.

She was taken to the sick bay and offered pain relief, counselling, a phone to speak to her father. She had refused them all, asking to be taken to her room instead.

 _Tarot cards. I need tarot cards._ It was a crazy thought. Elizabeth had never done a tarot reading before, nor had she ever believed in it. All of that stuff was hippie bullshit, there was no truth to it. Even so, the urge was too strong to resist. Given she lacked physical cards, she fired up her MacBook and clicked into the first Celtic tarot site she saw.

The online tarot program looked so shitty she almost immediately regretted her decision, but she selected her crappy electronic cards anyway, and studied the meanings of the cards she had chosen. That force inside her was buzzing again as she read the interpretations, and she was surprised when she found her reading made sense. Not only made sense, but made _specific_ sense to her.

She looked back at the cards and found they had taken on new shapes and symbols. They were all red now, moving in swirling patterns, creating images that looked like Olivia, like her father, like a woman-like creature with blood dripping from her pointed teeth. They told her exactly where she needed to be.

In a brief moment of lucidity, Elizabeth considered this was either one free site of exceptionally high quality or she was losing her mind, and she knew which one was more likely. The rage was still inside her though, and she was all too willing to let it consume her again.

She wasn't sure when she had left. It hadn't been something she'd actively considered, but something fuelled by the rage inside her. Her whole body hurt, like it was swollen from the inside, like there was something in her veins she needed to drain before it exploded and killed her.

She dressed in her most casual and dark attire, taking nothing but a £100 note in her bra, and slipped out of the school grounds unnoticed. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but she innately knew she wouldn't want to be spotted tonight.

She must have taken a cab, because she seemed to be in Eton before she knew it. She felt for the money in her bra and was surprised to find it all still there. Had she walked? It was 2.5 hours from St. Catherine's to Eton, surely it hadn't been that long? She wasn't sure of the time she had left, nor the time now, so she couldn't be certain. It hardly mattered.

She saw him come stumbling out of an upmarket bar, laughing uproariously at something one of his friends had said. Jeremy. He didn't deserve to laugh. He didn't deserve to draw breath.

The pressure inside Elizabeth was unbearable now. She could hear her blood coursing through her veins, her pulse so intense she thought it could be heard a mile away. She needed a release before she burst.

Bringing her wrist up to her mouth, she bit down hard. The pain was intense and her instinct was to pull away, but she fought it and bit down harder and harder until she tasted blood.

The energy around her changed. The pain she felt was replaced with a focused energy. She felt almost guided by a higher power as she licked the last of the blood from her lips and trained her eyes on Jeremy.

He froze in his tracks, his eyes full of panic as he lost control of his own body. She could see his pupils dilating, could see the beads of sweat beginning to form from every pore. It was remarkable. She flicked her eyes to the road and was delighted to see a lorry making its way toward them. Perfect timing. She was just where she was supposed to be.

 _Step in front of it,_ she wished so hard she could almost feel her will flowing into him.

He shrieked as he involuntarily raced into the middle of the road, his friends all too stunned to do anything to stop him. The lorry was too close to stop – despite the driver's attempts to brake, it was too late. There was a spectacular crunching sound as it made impact, and she could see, almost in slow motion, as his nose shattered, his eye popped from its socket, his leg was ripped from his body. It was beautiful, sensual in a way.

She could hear a voice softly whispering that she had passed her test with flying colours, and she was pleased. She always had been an overachiever.

"Beth! Beth, wake up."

She came to groggily, still a little affected by the Ambien.

"Jamie? That you?"

"Yes, it's me. Beth, oh my god, Jeremy's dead. Emily's just messaged me to say she's coming for you."

"Me? Why?" 

"He killed himself, Beth. Stepped into traffic. She says it's your fault for all that shit you said about him...y'know...doing things to Olivia."

 _It is my fault,_ Elizabeth thought, caught somewhere between guilt and satisfaction.

Emily's misplaced anger was something she thoroughly could not be bothered dealing with. She was still trying to wrap her head around Olivia, Jeremy and most of Mallory. She needed space to work some things out, and she didn't fancy a fight right now.

Except that was a lie. A part of her was already jumping with excitement, and she could feel the first rush of adrenaline starting to take hold.

 _Is this who am I now? I know puberty can do some strange things to people, but this aggressive streak seems excessive._

With a sigh, she got out of bed and wrapped a satin dressing gown around her frame. If she was going to have another screaming match with her former friend, she might as well go full Dynasty.

"Beth?" Jamie looked at her quizzically. "Did you hear me? About Jeremy? It's sad, right?"

"I heard. Thank you."

Jamie left the room. Like the good social-climber she was, she was playing both sides – whichever girl came out on top of this fight would win her favour, so she couldn't afford to let Emily know she had given Elizabeth a heads up on her arrival. Elizabeth kind of respected her game. That was a girl who would always land on her feet.

She was still wiping the sleep from her eyes when Emily came bursting into the room, her eyes wild with anger. She was trailed by a small group of onlookers, all eager for some further drama. Suicide was too sad to be fun, but a catfight was always entertaining.

Elizabeth tried to muster some sympathy – her former friend had just lost her boyfriend, after all – but all she felt was contempt. Emily had known the truth. She had never believed Jeremy's excuses, she had simply accepted them so she could keep her convenient relationship and keep up her seemingly perfect life. She spread lies, and she let Olivia take the fall in an effort to shield a man from the deserved consequences of his actions. The parallels with her own situation were not lost on her, and she vowed silently that she would never again protect her father, even if it cost her everything.

"You fucking BITCH!" Emily screamed. "My boyfriend is DEAD because of you and that little slut!"

"You mean a rapist is dead, and he brought it on himself."

"Stop calling him that!" Emily stormed over and slapped Elizabeth hard across the face as the crowd behind them gasped.

 _Mmm. Just what I needed._ The pain was just enough to fire up her 'powers', as Mallory had called them. Her higher power was back.

She fixed her focused gaze on Emily, who suddenly stood in place rigidly, as though stuck there. The anger in her eyes vanished, replaced by confusion and terror.

"You know what I thought was the saddest thing for Olivia?" Elizabeth hissed into Emily's ear, as the other girl whimpered with fear. _"_ It was that she felt like Jeremy's actions had left a mark on her that everyone could see. She felt like it was a permanent stain, something she could never remove. Can you imagine, feeling scarred like that? Feeling like everyone thinks you're damaged?"  
She pulled back slightly, looking Emily right in the face. "You're about to find out."

Elizabeth gave her internal command, and suddenly Emily dug her own fingernails into her cheeks, ripping downwards and leaving eight jagged, bloody lines down her face.

Emily fell to her knees, screaming, and the line of girls behind them screamed with her. The Head of House came racing into the room, stifling her own scream when she saw the state of Emily's face. She quickly shooed the other girls from the room and hoisted Emily to her feet, all but dragging the crying, bleeding girl away to the medical bays.

A few drops of blood had hit the wall, and Elizabeth couldn't resist. She caught one on her finger and brought it to her lips. The coppery tang didn't taste good, exactly, but it shot a bolt of pleasure through her body.

 _Guess bloodplay is my latest kink. Cool._

She made her way back into her room and began packing her bags.

Elizabeth called her father as soon as she left the school grounds to tell him she was going. He had protested, then insisted he come to pick her up. She was confused, he said, the result of the trauma of the last few days.

"On the contrary, daddy. I've never felt better." It was half true. She was scared for the future, but dropping the dead weight that was her father was long overdue.

"Beth, come home and rest a few days. We'll get your head right."

"My head will never be right while I'm around you. You're toxic, daddy. You make me the worst version of me. I need to work out what I am without you."

"What you are without me is nothing." He spat, suddenly full of venom. " _I_ have given you everything. _I_ own everything you think you have. Don't forget that."

"See, that's where you're wrong. You haven't given me everything. What I've got, I've been granted by someone else. Maybe some _thing_ else."

"What are you talking about, Beth?"

"I made a boy walk into to traffic with my mind, daddy. I made a girl tear up her own face. I'm not afraid of you now."

She expected him to call her crazy, but there was silence on the other end of the line for a few too many seconds, and Elizabeth knew she had struck something.

"You don't know what you're talking about." His voice was cold now.

"I think we both know what I'm talking about."

"I thought if I raised you properly, in the church, under the eye of The Lord, all your mother's blasphemous pagan bullshit couldn't touch you. My own daughter, corrupted..."

"Corrupted?" Elizabeth laughed bitterly. "Oh, that's a good one coming from you! If anyone here needs Jesus, it's you. And I need to put a good few thousand miles between us, so I'm going to go now. Just one last thing. You know that journalist you're suing for libel, Sharon Evans?"

He grunted in response.

"You're dropping the suit against her."

"Excuse me?"

"You're dropping the suit. If you don't, I'll get on the stand. And not only will I get on the stand, I'll go to the papers and tell them all you like to get a bit handsy with your own daughter. Understand?"

"You wouldn't dare..."

"How about you fucking try me, Caoimhín? I'll be checking the papers. Don't wait too long to make the announcement."

She hung up the phone, her heart beating wildly. She felt both triumphant and sick. She had really done it.

"Pardon me, miss?"

She spun around to see a remarkably handsome young man stood behind her. "Are you Elizabeth? I'm here to pick you up."

"Oh. Yes. Thank you. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting," she smiled at the handsome cab driver, and he beamed back at her.

"No trouble at all, miss. Let me grab that for you." He took her suitcase and carefully placed it in the boot of the car. He really was very nice looking, with sandy blond hair, blue eyes and a big, bright smile. He had a touch of James Dean about him, she thought. Usually she preferred to sit in the back, as she was under less obligation to be social there, but she reconsidered today given how good the view was in the driver's seat.

He started the car as soon as she was buckled in, and she looked at him with some confusion.

"I don't remember giving the destination. Don't you need an address?"

"Nope," he grinned again, then gestured for her to look in the glove compartment. "Take a peek in there." Even his voice was nice. The accent was a bit rough, and clearly working class, but it was such a friendly sounding voice.

She opened it up, and a deck of tarot cards fell out. She wondered if she should be worried, but upon consideration, it's not like she really had much of a plan he was interfering with. Even if he was a murderer, she could think of worse sights to see in her last moments. She decided to roll with this.

"The cards told me were to find you. We all picked up on your energy last night. Oskar says you've got Morrigan." He looked at her approvingly. "That's a good one to have. I've got Aengus, myself."

"Morrigan? Aengus?"

"Our Gods. You don't know this yet?"

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Aw, that's nothing to worry about. It's a bit of a drive we've got ahead of us, so I can fill you in on a lot of it. Oskar and Alistair can tell you the rest." He shot her another one of his dazzling smiles. "To tell you the truth, Miss Elizabeth, you've come at a good time. I was starting to get bored with it just being me and the two old timers."

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she found herself smiling back, as if they were sharing an in-joke. "What's your name?"

"Finn. Finn Ryan. And you're Elizabeth Regan, right?"

"Right." _Fuck it._ "But you can call me Elle for short."

"Elle. Suits you. It's nice to meet you, Elle."

"Nice to meet you too, Finn."

 _I think you'll find it very illuminating if you're willing to be open-minded,_ her Headmistress' words from what felt like a lifetime ago echoed in her mind. Not such bad advice after all.

"Hey, could we stop at an electronics store on the way? I've got to pick something up." Mallory's phone number still sat in her pocket.

"Your wish is my command, m'lady."

"Terrific." Elizabeth smiled. Wherever she was going, she got the feeling she was going to like it there.


	3. Chapter 3

2015

MALLORY

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

The trick is to be able to go back and pick the right moment in time, and let it play out from there.

One thing they always left out of the movies was how much of a mind fuck time travel was.

The first time around had been difficult – Mallory was not a very good liar, so keeping Cordelia in the dark about what they had been through was challenging, as was managing the lingering fear and trauma that was still very real in her mind. Her powers had seemed to develop quicker, as much as she tried to repress her own strength, and she had struggled with feelings of guilt at hastening her Supremes decline.

The trade-off had been the return of Misty, who had brought so much joy to Cordelia that her last years had been the best of her life. Seeing the two of them together again had been a large source of comfort to Mallory, confirmation that while Cordelia's lifespan may have been shortened by Mallory's rapid rise, she had at least helped her find true happiness.

This time was so much harder. It had been wonderful at first – Mallory had woken up in 2014 after her successful performance of Tempus Infinituum, and the elation she had felt had been like nothing she had ever experienced. They had actually pulled off the impossible, the world was safe, and Mallory was determined to keep it that way. There was food, the air didn't smell like blood and rot, and her first sip of coffee was like nectar from the Gods.

She had been delighted to find her powers were back and to discover she had retained many of her former skills – her proficiency in Concilium had certainly made it a lot easier to get on a plane to England with no money or passport, and she had concocted an effective spell that would stop her parents wondering where she was. So far, so good.

It wasn't until after meeting with Elizabeth that some of the shine began to wear off. It was stupid, she knew, but a small part of her had thought her dearest friend would remember her to a degree, or at least feel the connection they had shared. To be a total stranger to the person who meant more to her than just about anyone had hurt, and sent her on a downward spiral that had worsened when she returned home.

Having a body that was 20 and a mind that was 42 sounded good in theory, but for Mallory it was a disconnect that was tough to reconcile. Half of her existence had been wiped out in a flash, and while she was pleased the world wasn't on the brink on imminent destruction anymore, she couldn't help but grieve for the life only she would ever remember.

She was in love with a man who had never met her, and the woman she considered a sister was happy to be half a world away from her. If she went back to the coven, she would have to live through the decline of her mentor again, but this time there would be no special favours granted to her to fill Cordelia's final years with happiness. It was insult to injury that she was the only one who would ever know or care about what had been lost, and only one to remember the pain and misery caused by the very man - currently boy - she was tasked with rescuing.

It was all horribly unfair, but the thought of having Michael so close to her was the part that bothered Mallory the most. Bringing him back had had seemed like the better choice when the other option was certain death, but now she wasn't so sure. Devan's delight in his viciousness had made Michael seem less dark by comparison, but was pure evil really that much worse than mostly evil? Even if she was successful in taking Michael away from the influences that had hastened his corruption, what then? Elizabeth had suggested taking him to Cordelia, but she was so new to her role as Supreme that Mallory wondered if it was too great a responsibility.

There was time, at least, to consider her options. Mallory had come back in mid-2014, and Michael wouldn't age out of toddlerhood until 2015. If she tried to take him before then, Constance would cause trouble – the woman may not have loved her grandson's murderous leanings, but she was still enamoured enough with being a mother to a beautiful little boy that she wouldn't just hand him over. Best to wait until Michael's supernatural abilities became too much to bear and Constance's visions of sainted motherhood were truly shattered before making a move, whatever that may be.

Being back with her own parents was the last in a long list of shitty circumstances that weighed on Mallory. They were nice people really, but they were conservative Baptists and myopic in their worldview. They had always struggled to relate to their daughter and what they considered to be her flights of fancy, while Mallory had found their humdrum lifestyle unfulfilling. With more life experience under her belt, she now found their banality borderline unbearable.

She considered leaving, but finding new accommodation would require using her powers, and she needed to keep her head down for now. Her powers were stronger than they had been the first time she was 20, but still not as strong as they would become, and she was a bit out of practice given she'd spent a few years suffering the effects of Manhattan Madness. A mistake was possible, and she couldn't afford to draw attention to herself before she was ready. The forces of darkness would be preparing to make their moves too, and giving herself away as a powerful source of light could lead to complications she really didn't need.

For someone blessed with immense power, Mallory had never felt so helpless. She had always been a naturally positive person, and much of her power came from her inner light. To have that light dimmed felt like she was losing more of herself, and she rang in 2015 more depressed, anxious and confused than she had ever been.

The more she thought about it, the less convinced she was she could sway the Antichrist towards the side of good, and the more convinced she was that she had picked the wrong moment to come back. She needed to talk with someone, anyone from her old life, and convince herself that things would be okay again. She'd take even a sliver of positivity at this point.

Cordelia? Mallory wondered. Could I contact her? She'd help me, but she's under so much scrutiny since she went public. An Antichrist threat and a miserable witch crying on her shoulder is the last thing she needs right now. Until I've made a decision, I won't burden her further.

She briefly considered trying to raise Myrtle from the dead, as she was always a good sounding board and source of comfort. Mallory had raised her again in 2023 during the second apocalypse, and they had developed a strong friendship. She could be totally honest with Myrtle, which was a very appealing prospect indeed, but raising her went against Mallory's current easy-on-the-powers philosophy and was a spell that had too much potential to go horribly wrong.

Myrtle's out, Cordelia's a no right now, who's left?

Mallory's eyes fell on the drawer where she kept her secret phone. Elizabeth had kept her word and texted her with a contact number, so she clearly didn't think Mallory was completely insane, and she was at least aware that they had some kind of history.

I can't, she thought. She doesn't know me, she can't give me advice, and she's dealing with her own shit right now. I can't even tell her about Michael yet, or what he is. Plus, she's 17, she's a literal child. Maybe if I just talk to her about life in general, no heavy stuff? No, it's not fair to try and push her into being your friend again. But then none of this is fair…

In the moment, it was a good enough justification. Before she could talk herself out of it, Mallory grabbed the phone and dialled the number.

It's actually ringing. It's a real number, this is happening. God, Goddesses, spirits of Supremes past, whoever, please, let this go well. I need a friend right now.

"Oh god, tell me the world's not ending already? What do I need to do?" A very sleepy sounding Elizabeth mumbled after four rings.

"Elle? Uh, sorry, you don't need to do anything yet, I just...did I wake you?" Mallory tried to sound contrite, but it was just so good to hear her friend's voice.

"Mmm, that's alright. What's happening?"

"Umm. Nothing, not yet. I just...needed to talk to you."

"Right now?" Elizabeth yawned. "It's nearly a quarter past four in the morning."

Whoops. Forgot about the time difference. "Ah, sorry. I'll call back another time-"

"No, it's okay. I'm awake. Mostly." There was a rustling as blankets were presumably pushed away. "I heard the news about Miss Robicheaux's. So, you're an actual witch then? Are broomsticks really a thing?"

"I am an actual witch, and no, no broomsticks are involved," Mallory grinned. "Although I'm not technically part of Miss Robicheaux's Academy yet. Still doing my own thing for a little while. And you're settling in with the Tuatha Dé Danann?"

"For the most part." Another yawn. "Have you met the other descendants?"

"I know Finn and Siobhan well, and I briefly knew Alistair."

"Oh, yes, Finn's around. He's wonderful. And Alistair, he's alright, but I don't know anyone named Siobhan. Does that mean Oskar and Louise weren't around in the...um...other time?"

Long dead. You killed them and took the throne. "Uh, yes. They died before we met."

"Hmm. Do you know how?" Elizabeth didn't exactly sound distressed. Mallory knew they'd had their issues, but she hadn't realised how early they'd started.

"In some kind of battle, I think." It was a lie by omission, but Mallory thought it best to keep any information about Elizabeth's ascent to the throne to herself. She didn't know how much of the future she would affect if she shared her knowledge too early, and her friend was nowhere near the level of maturity required to be a good Queen yet.

"Well, if you think history is likely to repeat itself, I'd appreciate a heads up."

So you can make sure they repeat it. "Of course, sure thing."

"Thank you. Anyway, sorry to get off track. What did you need to talk to me about?"

"Anything," Mallory sighed. "I'm just...kind of sad, and lonely. Sorry. I shouldn't have called."

"Ah, so that's why your voice sounds so musical. Your pain manifests in a very pretty way, if it's any consolation. We can keep talking."

"Normally I'd give you shit for getting off on my suffering, but I'm just pleased you're happy to talk."

"Well I won't be getting off if you keep cheering up, so let's just focus on the sad stuff, yeah?" Elizabeth teased.

"Oh, don't worry, honey, I'll get the job done. Plenty of misery here," Mallory chuckled softly. It felt good to joke again, and she was surprised by how quickly they were falling back into their easy rhythm. "It's just been so hard, going back so many years. No one else remembers the other timeline, and I'm trying to make the best decisions I can but...god, I don't know what I'm doing.

"I shouldn't be putting this stuff on you, and I don't expect you to have any answers, and now I'm rambling."

"I can ask the cards for you? About whatever it is you're trying to decide on?"

"That's nice of you, but I don't think they'll provide a lot of clarity. Every decision I made seems to create just another choice. I just wish I wasn't so scared of what my choices might lead to.

"I know this is a shitty thing to wish on you, but part of me wishes you were the one who went back and was making the decisions here. I never had your confidence, you wouldn't be doubting everything like I am."

"Me?" Elizabeth's voice was incredulous. "I don't know a damn thing, Mallory. A few months ago, I was so bloody naïve I'd have eaten rat poison if one of daddy's friends told me they were cornflakes. Any time I sounded confident to you, or like I in any way knew what I was talking about, I was probably full of shit. I also had two Crunchies for breakfast yesterday, so let's not oversell my ability to make good choices."

Mallory knew she shouldn't laugh, but she couldn't help herself. This was classic Elizabeth - for someone who was outwardly pretty damn collected, she could be so dramatic. When they had first met, Mallory had found her poise and nonchalant attitude intimidating. Their friendship hadn't really been cemented until the first time she caught her red-eyed and binge eating cheese after a plan had gone awry. Now, between Elizabeth's angst and Mallory's loneliness and self-doubt, they were making a habit of bonding over misery.

"Are you laughing at me?" The question was posed light-heartedly, and Mallory felt a sharp longing for those days when they would tease each other mercilessly for the slightest of reasons.

"Yes. No. It's you, it's me, it's this situation. Here I am, falling apart because half of my life has been erased and I'm unsure if I'm going to prevent or help bring on the apocalypse, and here you are in the middle of an identity crisis at 17. And what's a Crunchies breakfast?"

"Oh my god, don't tell me you don't have Crunchies in the U.S? No wonder you're sad, you're missing out on chocolate and honeycomb bliss. I've been binging on them like you wouldn't believe."

"I've seen you stress eat before, I can believe it. You know, I think we're more broken now than we were when we were about to die, and we're the people who are supposed to save the goddamn world."

There was silence for a moment, and then Elizabeth joined in the laughter. "The world is fucked if we're the best humanity has to offer."

"The world is SO fucked."

Their conversation had continued for another four hours. It was exactly what Mallory needed, and judging by how readily Elizabeth had opened up to her, it was something she had needed too.

It felt so good to finally say out loud some of what she had feeling, even if there was still so much Mallory had to keep secret. She had avoided going into great detail about Michael or even Devan, as she was well aware that teenage Elizabeth's thoughts on anything Antichrist related would be firmly of the 'kill it' variety.

Finn was also a topic that was off limits for now – she needed to process how this time jump would affect her feelings for him. He was 18 years old in the current timeline, and while physically she was 20, she was so much older in her mind. She wondered if it was ethically okay to ever consider him romantically again, or if she would always feel like her prior knowledge of him was akin to manipulation. Definitely something to unpack on her own first.

It had become increasingly clear that the relationship between the two girls would never be the same, but this wasn't necessarily a negative. In their previous lives, Mallory had generally deferred to Elizabeth, as she had always been the more decisive, the more willing to take a hit, and the stronger leader of the two. Now, with Elizabeth having reverted back to a teenager, Mallory's additional life experience and knowledge had cast her into the older sister role, and she was pleasantly surprised by how well it worked.

She had always been the nurturing type, but her friend had never been the type who required nurturing until now. They had spoken of their early lives before, and Mallory had been aware of most of Elizabeth's past already. What she hadn't known was how badly her upbringing weighed on her, and how much work she had put in to become the person she had eventually grown into.

Teenage Elizabeth was struggling on many fronts. She was worried she was a bad person right down to her DNA, with her worst traits exacerbated by her upbringing. Finn had tried to encourage her to unwind a bit with a half-joking remark about her living like she was in a never-ending job interview, as everything from her cultivated speech to her overly-considered movements seemed like someone trying to put forward their best face. It had backfired, and suddenly she was questioning how much of her outward personality was manufactured, more performance than reality.

She hadn't liked the conclusions she'd come to, but then, she wasn't sure her inner self was much better. Elizabeth loved her new powers, but was bothered by how much she enjoyed it when they manifested in violence, suffering and death. In her mind, this was proof she was innately wicked, which she believed was the reason Morrigan had chosen her as her conduit to the world. She didn't know whether to just embrace the darker side of her nature, which her new King Oskar largely encouraged, or fight to be the person she could feel slowly emerging from the ashes of her former life.

For the first time since she came back, Mallory had felt truly useful as she reassured her friend. She knew what Elizabeth was capable of becoming, and she could empathise with a lot of the frustration the other girl was feeling as she'd been there herself.

There were highs and lows that came with being a powerful being – their abilities were enviable, but they came with expectations, and they both had felt the resentment of having to give up their previously held hopes and ambitions to focus on their powers. It would be worth it in the end though, Mallory knew from experience, and she had promised Elizabeth she would always be there to help her fight the darkness or be a shoulder to cry on when the going got particularly tough. Nothing was more nourishing to your soul than family, even if they were family of your own making rather than blood.

My sisters. My true family. We made a halfway decent person out of Madison eventually, and we even got close to the Tuatha Dé Danann, and no one else has ever done that. We stopped the world from ending, twice. What can't we do when we have each other?

It was like a lightbulb had gone off in Mallory's head. She didn't have to have all the answers right now. She had a family, an immensely powerful one, and they would figure this out together. Nothing was beyond their collective power, even redeeming the Antichrist.

This is the right moment. Don't let the Devil convince you otherwise. What's the catchy way of saying that? Not today, Satan.

Mallory ended the call in a far better headspace than she started in. She could slowly feel her light returning as her optimism began to cautiously creep back in. Teenage angst was a powerful thing, but so was she.

The moment she hung up, she began plotting her course to 1120 Westchester Place.

Mallory hadn't been exaggerating when she had said her every decision led to more choices. She had decided that she would take Michael to Cordelia and the coven, but figuring out when was the right time to do so raised so many more questions.

She was set on it being after his growth spurt, for lack of a better word, but should it be before he murdered the priest, or after Constance kicked him out? Should she wait until after Constance's death, when Michael had started bonding with Ben Harmon? Should she wait for Vivien to try and kill him? If she pushed it too long, she risked Ms. Mead finding him.

There were at least two lives in her hands, which was a feeling that had never sat well with Mallory. Worse, her gut was telling her their lives had to be lost to give her the best chance to succeed in her quest.

It was cruel, but she needed Michael to be broken. The rejection of his grandmother, biological father, step-father and mother had deeply wounded him, and made Miriam Mead's acceptance of him so precious. Mallory still remembered the way he looked at her ruined android form, the grief and rage evident on his face. He had loved her, and her influence had made him what he was. If she and Cordelia had any chance of saving him from the darkness, this was the role they needed to fill.

She knew the day Constance would snap and tell Michael to leave – the memory of hitting him with her car was burned in her brain, after all. If she didn't intervene, Constance would change her mind and bring him back home.

Mallory's knowledge of the timeline after that was limited, pieced together from the information gleaned by Madison and Behold during their investigation into Michael's early years. She knew it wouldn't take long for things to fall apart for Constance and Michael again, leading her to kill herself and leave her grandson all alone. He would move into 1120 after her death and start building a relationship with Ben, but she had no idea when Ben had given up on him.

She suspected it hadn't taken too long - Ben had his own issues, and while Mallory had been fortunate enough to never have to see a psychiatrist, her impression of Ben Harmon was that he would have been better suited to another line of work. He and he family had been in an emotionally rocky place long before they moved to LA, and she didn't think he was all that well equipped to deal with the complexities of Michael's situation.

If she recalled correctly, his mother, Vivian, would attempt to kill him after Ben stopped trying to be his dad, and in retaliation, he would try to set her alight. Shortly after that, the Satanists would come, hold their black mass, and take Michael away. She couldn't let that happen – she knew nothing about Miriam Mead besides her devotion to Satan, but she had a suspicion the woman knew how to remain hidden. She wouldn't have been entrusted with the wellbeing of their saviour if Anton LeVay hadn't been confident in her ability to keep him safe and away from those who would prevent him from fulfilling his dark destiny.

Mallory couldn't afford to wait until 2017 when the warlocks took Michael in, he was too far gone by then. There was really only one thing to do, and that was monitor things for herself. She had to trust that the right time would present itself if she was there to witness it.

The day before Michael was due to be kicked out, Mallory let her parents catch her levitating. They had reacted as she knew they would – she'd lived it twice before, and listening to them rant about devil worship and her power being an affront to God never got any more entertaining.

She had cut them off midway through their spiel this time, offering to leave for Miss Robicheaux's on the proviso they gave her some money and the SUV. They had accepted hesitantly – she was still their daughter, after all, but witchcraft was something they simply couldn't wrap their minds around or allow under their roof. That was fine by Mallory – any excuse to leave her parents care without causing them too much sorrow worked for her.

It wasn't even an hour-long drive from Burbank to 1120 Westchester Place, so she had ample time to scout out a location with a decent view of Constance's home and the place known locally as the 'Murder House'. Despite her trepidation at using her magic, particularly in such close proximity to Michael, she figured a simple cloaking spell was unlikely to alert him to her presence, and would prevent any questions being asked by the neighbours.

Now I just have to wait it out. Wow, this this the first time I've ever felt kind of grateful for living through two apocalypses. Living in my car doesn't seem so bad, at least there's a 7-Eleven nearby. Coffee on demand is pretty fucking luxurious.

It hadn't taken long to catch her first glimpse of Constance. Coiffed, manicured and dressed immaculately, she was hard to miss.

Mallory had only ever caught a glimpse of her in her rear-view mirror before, but she could tell immediately who she was – she was beautiful, with high cheekbones, a jawline that remained sharp and striking despite her age, and hair that fell in blonde waves. Who else could she be but Michael's grandmother? Clearly, a good deal of her genes had been passed along to her grandson, and as she studied her features, Mallory felt a wave of fear hit her. The reality was sinking in – she was only feet away from the man who had once murdered everyone she had ever loved, and soon she would be in even closer proximity.

Swallowing her anxiety, she turned her focus back to Constance. The woman was making a phone call, and judging by the elaborate gesticulations she made as she spoke, it was not a happy call.

Calling in the big guns, Mallory supposed. Too bad priests can't save you from your grandson's darkness, the darkness you enabled until his messes started getting too much for you to be willing to clean up.

It was no surprise, really, that none of Constance's children had ever truly had a chance. The woman was image-obsessed, narcissistic, and frankly, batshit crazy. Mallory was aware she was a murderer herself – Moira had been all too happy to air as much of Constance's dirty laundry as she could to Madison and Behold, and Constance's laundry was pretty damn dirty – so a few deaths were no great bother to her, not until they limited her garden space or could lead to neighbourhood gossip.

She had wanted great things for herself, Moira had said, and when her dreams didn't pan out, the burden of achieving greatness was shifted to her children. For them to be less than perfect was unacceptable, and her disappointment in them was made clear from the moment they first failed to meet her expectations.

Michael had been her best hope – a beautiful and clearly gifted child, born in such exceptional circumstances. Neither Madison nor Behold had really bought Constance's story that his supernatural nature had taken her by surprise and caused her a great deal of dismay. If she knew he was her grandson, fathered by her long-dead son, she couldn't have been too shocked when he didn't age or behave like a typical child.

Madison's theory was that things began to fall apart because Constance started feeling expendable to Michael. His inability to contain his growing power led to him rebelling against his grandmother's authority, albeit in more destructive ways than most teenage boys. While Constance probably was truly concerned for her life, Madison believed her change of heart towards him was driven more by the fact that it looked less and less likely she could ride to greatness on his coattails, relishing in the spotlight that came with being his exalted and beloved mother.

Of course, had she ridden out the growing pains, she probably could have filled the role Ms Mead had ended up playing, but Constance was not a patient or particularly thoughtful woman. The moment Michael showed the slightest wavering in his devotion to her, she began to resent him. Madison thought Constance wanted to reject him before he rejected her, and her love for her beautiful child became a simmering hatred for the boy she now suspected wasn't going to take her with him on his path to glory. Given how well-versed Madison was in knowing the mind of a narcissist, Mallory thought her theory was pretty solid.

Constance was making her way back inside now, a cigarette dangling between two long fingers. As she opened the front door, Mallory caught a glimpse of movement inside. It was a tall figure, features indistinguishable except for a brief glint of golden hair. She felt her blood run cold.

It was him. Michael. So close she could feel the vibration of his energy.

She took a long swig of her coffee, willing herself to calm down. This was only the beginning; the worst was yet to come.

Three and a half weeks had passed since Mallory had started her stake-out, and the body count already sat at four.

She hadn't intervened when the priest came to Constance's house, as much as every fibre of her being screamed for her to stop him. Instead, she had bought a bottle of vodka and sipped it straight, trying to bury the guilt and nerves that threatened to overwhelm her.

Drinking had turned out to be a very bad idea indeed. Barely 45 minutes after the priest entered, Michael had walked out, barefoot, his bright blue eyes tinged with red. He stepped out into the street without so much as a glance to see if any traffic was coming, something Mallory had once used to her advantage. This time, however, there was no SUV there to take him out, and he crossed safely, directly in front of Mallory's cloaked car.

Michael was merely steps away from her when he stopped, tears still rolling down his cheeks. Mallory sat still, frozen with fear, unable to do anything but look at him.

He looked about 15, if she had to guess, but with none of the awkwardness that age usually brought with it. His skin was clear, smooth and lightly tanned, making his blue eyes and golden waves appear even more intense. His features were defined, with sculpted cheekbones and a strong jawline.

In her clearest memories of him, he wore tailored, black clothes, so the denim jacket and yellow shirt he currently wore seemed out of place. When she had pictured his face before, it was always with a smirk, almost as menacing as he was handsome. Seeing him clad in brightly coloured clothes, looking so young and so miserable, was the closest he'd ever come to seeming like a normal person, in her eyes at least. It was all wrong, seeming someone so damn evil looking so innocent.

He really is beautiful, Mallory thought, dazed from both the alcohol and the panic attack she could feel brewing under the surface. Like an angel from one of those old paintings by that guy, whatever his name is. Makes sense, I guess. The devil was an angel once too, wasn't he?

Michael was still stood in front of her car, wiping his eyes, when a look of confusion spread across his face. He turned slightly, until he was facing her.

Oh god. He can't see me, but can he sense me? Shit. Shit shit shit.

It was too much for her, and she felt her stomach flip. She had just enough time to grab an empty coffee cup before she threw up, the smell of a half-digested gas station muffin and cheap vodka hitting her nostrils and causing a second wave of nausea to overcome her. When she looked up, Michael was peering straight at her.

He knows. What do I do?

"Michael!" Constance's voice rang out from across the street, and Mallory thought she'd never heard anything so sweet in all her life. "Oh, thank goodness you're still here. Come back inside, my poor child. Grandma shouldn't have been so firm with you."

Michael slowly turned away to face his grandmother, and Mallory let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Grandma? I'm sorry, I don't mean to upset you." Michael sounded genuinely contrite.

"Didn't."

"Wha- I mean, pardon?"

"You didn't mean to upset me. But that's alright, my precious boy. It'll all be alright." Constance embraced her grandson before taking him by the hand and leading him back to the house, as Mallory broke down and burst into tears in the car.

Of course, it hadn't been alright. Three days later, Mallory watched as Constance marched over to the Murder House, brown paper bag and cigarettes in hand. She knew what the bag contained, and this time, she felt less of a compulsion to intervene. Some people were beyond saving, and if she was completely honest, Mallory felt the world was probably a little darker with Constance in it.

As predicted, Michael had moved next door following Constance's suicide. Mallory had decided her moment was after Vivian's attempt to kill him in his sleep, so she spent most of her days sleeping and her nights listening for the sound of a struggle, or watching intently for something that could be a flame. It had come as a surprise when she was woken up one morning by the sound of a van.

Oh God. I forgot, someone moves in. Shit, where does this fit in the timeline?

Mallory watched as two pretty young women jumped out of the van, beaming grins on their faces. They stood outside of their new home, one with her arm draped around the others shoulders, the other woman sliding her hand into her partner's back pocket. They were clearly delighted by the house, and very in love.

Newlyweds, Mallory thought with a pang of sadness. They reminded her of Cordelia and Misty, with their easy affection and comfort in each other's company. I can't let Michael kill them.

She debated internally for a few minutes as the women walked inside, happily chatting. This was bigger than two people, and a misstep now could literally mean the end of the world. Letting things play out until her moment came made sense, but Mallory's conscience was an irrational thing.

Maybe it's not the best thing to do, but it's the right thing to do. Save them.

With a last look around to make sure nobody was watching, she got out of her car and made her way towards the house. She didn't make it beyond the gates when she heard anguished screaming, and knew she was too late.

He's turning fast. He's killed three people in under a month. I have to do something, before this gets worse.

Now wasn't the time though. Mallory knew if she entered the house now, she'd end up as dead as those poor women. Quietly but quickly, she made her way back to her car, wiping her eyes. It was stupid to take this so personally, she knew, but the reminder of her friends had also been a reminder that she would probably never meet Misty in this timeline, Cordelia wouldn't get her happy ending, and it was all thanks to Michael.

She couldn't afford to think like that. He'd sense her resentment and she'd never be able to gain his trust if she kept letting herself hate him so much. With a heavy sigh, she tried to push her negative thoughts away, and when that didn't work, she willed herself into a fitful sleep.

When she woke up, the evening sky was tinted red and crows were circling overheard. Mallory wished Siobhan was with her – crows were one of Siobhan's omens, and she would have been outraged by the Antichrist sharing it with her. Listening to her complain about it would have been the most entertainment Mallory had had in weeks.

No time for the 'if only' game right now. Whatever is going down between Michael and Vivian, it's probably going down tonight. Be alert.

A sudden movement near the gate caught her eye. Three figures, clad in black, were moving towards the house. Mallory felt her mouth go dry.

It can't be, not so soon. I was sure they came after Vivian tried to kill Michael...fuck, I've got it backwards, haven't I? Fucking hell Mallory, how did you manage to make such a mess of this timeline?

She was running out of time. Once Michael met the Satanists, Miriam Mead in particular, he would be lost to the light. The pull of darkness would be too great once she began enabling him. That woman had managed to become the devil on the shoulder of the Devil's own son, and she had to be stopped, whatever the cost.

Breaking the cloaking spell as she leapt out of her car, Mallory raced towards the house, catching the Satanists before they reached the door.

"Hey!" She cried, unable to think of anything more inspired.

The trio turned towards her, looks of confusion and annoyance on their faces. It was obvious she wasn't the one they were looking for, and they weren't in the mood for distractions.

"Umm," she stalled as she probed their minds, looking for that sweet spot of suggestibility. Concilium could be tricky at the best of times, and to put three people under her spell simultaneously wasn't going to be easy. "The guy you're looking for, he's next door, actually."

They exchanged glances, and Mallory felt her heart skip a beat.

"Next door?" the man Mallory knew to be Anton LaVey pondered. "Yes, of course. Our saviour is next door."

They pushed their way past her like she was little more than an overgrown shrub. She supposed her life meant about that much to them too. When they were a safe enough distance, she turned and approached the house.

Now what? Do I knock?

She knocked three times as a courtesy before trying the handle. Unlocked. It was showtime.

"Hello?" Mallory called, her heart about ready to beat out of her chest with nerves. "M-Michael?"

She heard footsteps from upstairs, and took a deep breath. She could do this.

"Who are you?" the tall boy stood at the top of stairs, scratching at his golden head. Mallory couldn't contain her shudder – the last time they had a conversation around who she was, things had rapidly gone downhill. He had shown her his demonic face, and she had pushed him away with her powers – and fire. Lots of fire. He had orchestrated her death not long after.

"I'm Mallory. I'm a…friend," she swallowed hard. "Michael-"

"How do you know my name?" he interrupted. "Are you the thing that's been watching me?"

He's got better senses than I thought.

"Um. Yes. Sorry. I know you, Michael, in a way. We've met before, a long time ago. I don't really have time to explain right now-"

"What are you?"

At least I know that much this time. "I'm a witch. And I'm here to help you."

"Help me? How?"

"Michael, some people are coming for you. Some really bad people, who want to make you do things I know you don't want to do."

"How do you know what I want to do?" he frowned, his expression challenging. "If you've been watching me, you've seen what I've already done. Why would you help me? I'm a monster."

"You're not a monster. I mean, you don't have to be. I know who you are, Michael. I know how you were born, I know about your parents and your grandma and all of it. I know what you want to be, and I can help, I just need you to trust me."

His eyes widened in shock. "How do you-?"

"I really don't have time to explain it right now." Mallory was conscious that time was something she didn't have in abundance. "Please. Trust me. We need to leave."

He looked her up and down, unsure what to make of her. After a silence that felt like a lifetime, he nodded.

"Okay. I'll get my things."

"There's no time. We'll get you new stuff, I promise, we just need to get out of here."

He nodded again and made his way down the stairs. "What was your name again? Melanie?"

"Mallory."

"Mallory. Okay."

They reached the doorway and Mallory felt her heart sink. They'd taken too long, and the Satanists were making their way back towards the house. Her power was still a little too shaky to have the lasting effect she'd hoped for.

"Fuck. They're coming. We need to run."

She took his hand, ignoring the urge to pull away from his touch. LaVey had spotted them, and she heard him shout something indistinguishable to the two women at his side.

"That way, the black SUV. Go!"

They took off, sprinting towards the now-visible car. LaVey, Miriam and the other woman were close – too close, and Mallory glimpsed the glint of a blade in Miriam's hand. Channeling all her focus, she pushed them back with her mind, sending them flying across the road. She felt Michael slow down as he gawked at the figures sprawled across the ground, and she gave his hand a small tug of impatience.

"Get in, quick." She hurried Michael into the car, jumping into the driver's seat and firing it up. Miriam was up on her feet, her eyes wild with rage. She was making her way towards the car, not even bothering to disguise the knife any more. Mallory grudgingly gave her points for tenacity, but she wasn't about to give her any chances. She floored it, speeding down the road until Miriam was nothing more than a screeching speck in her rear-view mirror.

Once she was certain they weren't being followed, she pulled over. She was shaking badly and needed a moment to get herself together, which was easier said than done when the Antichrist was sat beside her. Hazarding a glance at Michael, she was surprised to see something like concern on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentler than she remembered or expected. "Are we...are we going to be okay? I think that lady had a knife..."

"I'm okay. And we're okay. Thank you," Mallory mustered up a small smile she hoped was reassuring. "I just need a second to catch my breath, that's all."

He nodded. "Where are we going?"

"To a friend's place. Have you ever been to New Orleans?"

"No."

"I think you'll like it. You'll definitely like Cordelia."

"Who's Cordelia?" 

The bravest, best witch there ever was. "She's the Supreme, and she's the greatest. I'm feeling better now, we should start moving again. Try and get some sleep, if you can. It's a bit of a drive, and we'll hit up a motel tomorrow, but right now we need to put some distance between us and those people."

"Who were they?"

"I'll explain everything soon, I promise. For now, though, get some rest. And just shout out if you're hungry or need to, um, stop for anything."

"Okay. Thank you."

He turned his head away from her and was silent, leaving Mallory with her racing thoughts and her prayers that Miriam Mead hadn't got a good look at her new companion.


	4. Chapter 4

2016

MICHAEL

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

Michael came to groggily, his head still swimming. His vision seemed hazy, but it was hard to tell how much was the result of having passed out, and how much was due to the dozens of candles flickering around him. Absently, he tried to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, but his hands were bound to the chair he was seated on.

Where...where am I?

The last thing he remembered was being out on a field trip to the French Quarter with the witches from Miss Robichaux's Academy, before there was a loud noise and everything went black.

The girls. Are they...?

Lifting his head as best he could, Michael looked around, ignoring the throbbing in his head, desperately searching for any sign of the young witches. There were people in the room – he could hear the soft sounds of their breathing and the gentle rustling of their clothes as they moved – but he wasn't sure if he was relieved or extra concerned when he couldn't see any of his friends tied beside him.

There's gotta be a way... to get out of these binds. If I can just... get...my head together. Focus, Michael.

"He's waking up," a voice rang out from behind him.

There were heavy footsteps, and suddenly a woman appeared before him. She was dressed entirely in black, her short dark hair swept back off her face, her lips painted a deep red that reminded him of wine. Everything about her looked severe, with the exception of her dangly, beaded red earrings, which caught the glow of the candlelight and shone brightly. They were the sort of costume jewellery you might find at a market in a pile of vintage knick-knacks, and Michael found them strangely humanising.

As if she had read his mind, the woman broke into a huge, beaming grin that transformed her face into one that seemed much softer. Friendly, even, like a favourite aunt who was eager to spoil her nephew. Michael had never been so confused.

"Do I know you? Wait...are you...you chased us with a knife!"

"You remember! Oh, this is such an honour!" the woman exclaimed, and dipped her head towards him in a gesture of respect. "After all this time, to have the chosen one here before us..." she let out what seemed to be a largely involuntary happy noise.

"Chosen...? Who are you? Where am I?" Michael's confusion began to give way to anger. This wasn't such a bad thing – the anger helped him focus, and he felt his clarity returning. "What have you done with my friends?"

"Friends? Those witches are no friends of yours, Michael."

"How do you know my name?"

"We know all about you," a deep voice seemed to vibrate through the walls as a caped, imposing-looking man swept into the room.

"We've been looking for you for some time, Michael. I am Anton LaVey, Black Pope of the Church of Satan, and these-" he gestured to the woman with the red earrings and a second, more petite woman who had emerged from behind his chair, "...are my cardinals, Miriam Mead and Samantha Crowe. We are your most humble servants." He seemed to glide over to Michael before offering him a deep, theatrical bow.

"Okay," Michael exhaled. "Well that's...great, but I'm not part of any church, and I'm not looking to join, so if you could just..." he gestured to his bound hands. Whatever had him tied to the chair was a good deal stronger than ordinary rope, and possibly enchanted – his sly efforts to magically free himself as the Satanists spoke had yielded no results.

"My apologies for this imposition," LaVey truly looked a little sorrowful. "Truly, this is no way to treat the son of the Dark Lord, but we had to ensure you stayed and listened to us."

"The son of who?"

"The Dark Lord, Michael. Satan." Miriam Mead looked reverent as she spoke his name. "You are his son, sent to us to bring the end times."

"We're here to guide you and set you on your true path." LaVey continued, "Let us help you unleash your power."

"Look, I already told you. I'm not interested in your church, or your Dark Lord, and sorry to break it to you, but my dad's just some dead guy who couldn't wait to see the back of me. Now tell me what you've done with my friends," Michael's bright blue eyes narrowed as he fixed a cold glare on LaVey, "and maybe we all walk away from this."

"Your so-called-friends," LaVey pulled back a little from the intensity of Michael's gaze, "are unharmed. No doubt looking for you, so they can keep using you an-"

"They are NOT using me!" Michael hissed, his anger palpable. The witches at Miss Robichaux's were the closest thing he had to a family, and this was a touchy subject for him.

"Think about it, Michael. They don't nurture your gifts. They want to keep you locked away, stop you from realising your full potential. It's true they won't let you perform more advanced magic despite your obvious capabilities, isn't that so?"

"How...how did you know that?"

"Warlocks," Miriam Mead replied. "They hear things, and they know how deceitful these witches truly are. They've been helping us, here and there..." she gestured to the ropes binding Michael. "The reign of the witches is over, Michael. It's your turn now. Let us help you find your true power."

"I won't betray my friends."

"They aren't worth your loyalty. Do they truly care for you? When you look in their eyes, is it love you see? Or fear?"

Both.

Michael felt his insides twist. The Satanists weren't entirely wrong. He'd seen the looks on Cordelia and Mallory's faces whenever he first performed Concilium. He felt so elated, thinking they'd be proud of him, but they were afraid. Not afraid for him either, afraid of him.

It had hurt more than he'd cared to admit, and hurt more again when they lied to him later, congratulating him, offering fake smiles, not realising what he'd seen. He couldn't understand what he'd done wrong, or why no one was ever honest with him.

LaVey picked up on his silence. "They fear you, because they know you're stronger than them. This is why they try to hold you back, try to keep you from your destiny. They're creatures of the light, Michael, and no matter how much they claim to love you, they'll only ever see you as a son of darkness. As a monster."

Michael could barely stop himself from physically flinching. Monster. How he hated that word. That was all most people in his life had seen him as. That's how he'd seen himself, up until Mallory had taken him to Miss Robichaux's and Cordelia.

Even that's not true, is it? You still feel like a monster sometimes. They're right, Mallory and Cordelia see it too. You are a monster.

No. Stop thinking like that. They're your friends. They're your family.

Family. Like Grandma. Like Ben. Like Tate and Vivien. They all hate you. Grandma hated you so much she killed herself to get away from you. Even their ghosts won't talk to you. How long will it be before the witches hate you too?

LaVey could see he'd struck a nerve, and his expression veered between contrite and smug. Michael decided he really didn't like him, whether or not the man was trying to help him become more powerful. He turned his gaze towards Miriam Mead and her oddly comforting red earrings.

"So, what is it exactly you're proposing here? How do you plan to help me, exactly?"

Her face lit up again. "After the Black Mass, you'll b-"

"Black Mass?"

"Oh. It's a sacrificial ritual, it'll help you to strengthen your connection to your father."

"I'm not doing it. No sacrifices."

"Those witches really did do a number on him, huh?" Samantha Crowe piped up, only to be met with glares from everyone else in the room. "Uh. Sorry."

"Thank you, Ms. Crowe," LaVey said stiffly. "The Black Mass can wait. Why don't we start a little smaller?"

"Like what?"

"Spend a few days with us. Learn a little more about us, and your own abilities. If you decide you'd rather turn your back on destiny, well-" LaVey shrugged nonchalantly, "you're the one with the power here, Michael. We can't stop you. All we ask is that you give us a chance to show you your true path."

Say yes. It'll get you out of these ropes. Once you've figured out where you are, you can run. Kill them if you have to, and call Mallory.

Michael sighed, perhaps a touch too dramatically. "Fine. You've got three days, then I'm gone."

The Satanists exchanged ecstatic grins, Miriam Mead looking happiest of all. "Three days are all we need."

Three days had quickly become three months.

Michael had gone to stay with Miriam Mead, now known to him as Ms Mead, and he'd been shocked by how quickly being with her had felt like he was truly home. She didn't care about the dark side of him, and she hid nothing from him. She loved him despite what he was – no, because of what he was. It was a refreshing change, and so when she offered to take him back to California with her, he had accepted.

The only real downside was the gnawing guilt he felt over leaving the witches behind. They'd be worried about him. He had considered going back at the end of his three days, but the Satanists were right. Miss Robichaux's was a place of light, and he was a being born of darkness. How could he ever really fit in? Maybe they were glad he was gone. He wouldn't blame them if they were.

On the days when he missed them particularly badly and felt his resolve to stay waver, Ms Mead was there to reassure him he was making the right choice. They would never understand him, she told him, and they would never accept him the way the Church of Satan did. She was right, but it didn't stop the ache he felt.

Miss Robichaux's Academy was the first place he'd ever felt settled. He had people who really cared about him, a family. He'd been cautious about letting anyone else in after Ben's rejection, but the witches had broken down so many of his defences. He'd even let his guard down enough to start looking at his fellow students in a romantic light. He was, after all, a very handsome boy, and alone in a boarding school full of very pretty young witches.

He'd been oblivious to their flirting at first – hardly surprising given he'd only been a teenager for a matter of months - but puberty had hit him hard one day while looking through a book of Greek myths, of all things.

He'd come across the story of Hylas and his abduction by the Naiads, which was accompanied by an image of an old painting called 'Hylas and the Nymphs'. Michael loved everything about it. He was struck by the beauty of the nymphs, with their milky skin, flowing dark hair, red lips and dark eyes. They were so different to the sun kissed, golden blondes he'd always known - his grandma, his father, his mother, even the majority of the witches who surrounded him. He loved the seductive way the lead nymph looked at Hylas, and the tender way she touched him. He couldn't decide if her gaze and her hold on him was beseeching or commanding, but both held an appeal.

More than anything, he loved their power over him. Hylas, a powerful prince, warrior and companion of the hero Heracles, was helpless against the Naiads, delicate as they may appear. He must have known he was doomed as they pulled him beneath the water, but he submitted all the same for the promise of their love...and presumably all the pleasures that came with it. Michael found it thrilling to think of a powerful, alluring woman seducing him, especially a dangerous one.

Witches, then, were just the ticket. Powerful, beautiful, strong enough to hold an element of danger even if they were creatures of the light. He'd woken up the day after encountering that book to find he'd aged again to somewhere presumably closer to 19-20, around the age of many of the girls at Miss Robichaux's. That had certainly made things easier romance-wise.

He had enjoyed a few little dalliances, nothing serious, but fond memories all the same. If he was being honest, it was Mallory who most closely fit his ideal, with her large brown eyes, rosy lips, light brown hair and undeniable power. He would have liked to pursue her, but he was aware that for all her kindness towards him, there was a tension there that didn't come from a place of lust, and that was a barrier he didn't think he could break through. She was also his very first friend, and his saviour – these were things too precious to him to risk ruining for what could be a mere flirtation.

He'd ended up losing his virginity to a pretty newcomer named Mary, a girl who was far less interested in an emotional connection than a physical connection. She was vocal about what she liked and how she liked it performed, and he was an attentive and dedicated student. If nothing else, he'd be leaving Miss Robichaux's Academy with a solid education in oral sex.

Then there was Cordelia. Cordelia had welcomed both he and Mallory with open arms when they arrived, both still a little wary of each other and neither entirely sure of the reception they'd receive at Miss Robichaux's Academy. While she acknowledged he wasn't a witch, Cordelia had accepted him as magically gifted, and had taken him in. He'd never been so happy as when she presented him with his 'uniform' – sharply tailored, mostly black, highly fashionable pieces – it made him feel like he was truly part of the group, one of the team for the first time in his life. She was maternal, nurturing, warm – everything his grandma wasn't. With time, he thought he could come to love Cordelia like a mother.

But both Mallory and Cordelia were liars. They had led him to believe his abilities were the result of being born of a supernatural entity, and prevented him from moving beyond fairly basic magic under the guise of it being too dangerous for men. They cared too much to see him hurt, they'd claimed.

Michael wondered how much they knew about his true parentage. All of it, he presumed. When they had first arrived, Mallory had left him alone briefly while she spoke to Cordelia privately. After they talked, Cordelia had informally interviewed them and then admitted them within minutes. Now that Michael knew warlocks existed, the only reason he could imagine Cordelia allowing him in rather than sending him to the warlocks was because Mallory had told her to keep the son of Satan close.

He felt betrayed, which was a feeling he'd hoped never to experience again after Ben. That didn't stop him from wishing he could reach out to them though, and let them know he was safe and that he missed them. For all his darkness, love was something he could never quite manage to push down and drown out.

"Michael!"

Ms Mead's voice cut through the silence, stirring Michael from his sleep.

"Mmm? Everythinokay? Woah, what're yo-"

Ms Mead burst into Michael's room, duffel bag in hand, and began stuffing clothes from his dresser into it haphazardly.

"Michael, get up, we need to leave."

"What's going on?"

"The Church has been infiltrated. Witches. We need to get you out of here."

"Ms Mead. The witches won't hurt us." Michael swung his long legs over the side of bed and shot Ms Mead a reassuring smile. "They're still my friends."

"They aren't your friends, and it's not hurting you I'm worried about. We're so close, those bitches aren't going to swoop in and ruin everything now. Now come on, we're going on a little vacation."

Vacation? Ms Mead? Do they let you sacrifice virgins by the pool these days?

"And just where are we going?"

"Nowhere too far. We're going to stay at a nice old hotel. You'll like it. Now get dressed, we need to be out the door in five minutes."

It was rare to see Ms Mead so agitated, so Michael decided the best course of action was to just roll with it. He'd save his questions about the witches for later.

"Okay. So does this place have a name?"

"Cortana. No. Cortez. The Hotel Cortez."


	5. Chapter 5

2016

MALLORY

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

"Any luck?" Mallory paced the dining room nervously as Cordelia performed Divination for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Nothing new. He's still in Los Angeles, but I still can't pinpoint where."

Mallory sank into a chair, burying her head in her hands. Three long months they'd been searching for Michael, with little to show for it.

"Hey. It'll be okay. I know you're worried, but there's humanity in him, Mal-"

"There's demon in him too!" Mallory snapped before she could catch herself. Cordelia's beautiful eyes briefly widened with hurt, and Mallory instantly regretted her tone. "I'm sorry, Miss Cordelia. It's just...every minute he spends with them – with that Mead woman especially – he's one step closer to the darkness. To accepting his father."

"I know. We will find him Mallory, and we'll bring him home to us. I promise you. We will get him back."

Mallory wished she was more reassured by Cordelia's words, but she had lived through the reality of Michael at his worst. She wondered if Cordelia would be so confident in Michael's humanity if she could remember finding the corpses of Zoe and Queenie, their bodies riddled with bullets, their souls obliterated.

Have I even truly seen him at his worst? With enough time and maturity, he could make Devan look positively cuddly. He has what Devan never did – a capacity to care for others – and that makes him more dangerous. He didn't need to target us so personally, to kill my sisters with so much satisfaction. That was pure revenge for Ms. Mead. What will he do for her now she's got her hooks in him?

Mallory had told Cordelia most of the story over the year and a half she'd been part of the Coven. She'd revealed the truth about Michael's father in their very first meeting, something she hadn't even told Michael, and true to form, Cordelia had taken them in and offered them her protection. She had listened patiently and thoughtfully over the next few weeks as Mallory shared stories of the first apocalypse, and together they had hatched a plan.

Michael would be exposed to magic, and taught how to control it to a degree. They would give him enough knowledge and power to prevent him from feeling stifled, but not enough to make him suspect what he was truly capable of.

This plan turned out to be far easier said than done. When they saw the ease with which he performed Concilium, a dangerous ability even in the hands of those who didn't possess Michael's innate darkness, they knew it would be more difficult than they had anticipated to keep his power in check.

Desperate times had called for desperate measures, so they had contacted Dinah Stevens, the new Voodoo Queen, and she had agreed to help them with a binding spell in an effort to prevent Michael's powers from growing stronger. They had been heading to see her under the guise of a field trip to the French Quarter when they had been ambushed, knocked out by some kind of exploding potion, and Michael had been kidnapped. They were lucky they hadn't been killed while they were unconscious – if Queenie and Zoe hadn't dawdled a little by the LaLaurie mansion and avoided the impact of the spell, they wouldn't have been able to fight off the assailants, and Mallory and Cordelia would surely be dead.

The kidnappers were part of the Church of Satan, that much Mallory was sure of. How they'd gotten their hands on a potion powerful enough to render not only witches, but the Antichrist himself unconscious was another story. Were they allied with the warlocks again? She already trusted very few people, but deciding who to trust the least at any given moment felt like a constant and exhausting game she couldn't escape playing.

She wasn't certain if the Satanists had been watching them for some time, or if they'd offered Dinah a better deal to give them information – Mallory had enough experience with Dinah Stevens to know the woman was utterly mercenary – but either way, she felt like a fool for not seeing an attack coming. It was time to start thinking beyond simply keeping Michael contained, and start thinking about all the moving pieces on the puzzle board of the Apocalypse if she was to have any chance of preventing it.

There has to be a way to find him. There's something I'm missing...I have to think bigger, think beyond Michael. Maybe I'm focusing on the wrong target?

The realisation hit her like a lightning bolt. They were looking for the wrong person. Michael would be well hidden, and his identity kept largely secret, but Ms. Mead was known to people. Find her, and they would find Michael.

"Cordelia! I think I have an idea. What if we didn't look for Michael, but looked for Miriam Mead?"

Cordelia shook her head sadly. "That had occurred to me Mallory, but whatever spell they're using to conceal him is hiding her from me too."

"I'm not suggesting Divination. More old-fashioned than that. Detective work."

"What do you mean?"

"We don't know where she is, but we know there are people who do. The Church of Satan, someone there would have to know how to find her."

Cordelia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Surely they wouldn't pop up there? The church is open to the public, isn't it?"

"Anyone can go to a normal service, but the hardcore members, they're pretty secretive. We either need to find someone who knows where and when the real players are around, or we need an invite. Once we're in, we can compel someone to tell us about her."

"Getting in won't be simple. For a witch like you, concealing your inner light is not easy, and I don't think these people are likely to just hand out invitations to secret services."

"Even if they did, I'm not sure my acting skills are that great either."

"All of you girls shine so brightly, I don't know who could go in your place," Cordelia sighed. "If only Madison was here. She had enough darkness in her. She may actually have been convincing in a role for once."

Madison wouldn't have broken a sweat. She would have strolled up to the door, demanded to speak the Black Pope himself, pouted, flirted, name-dropped, and pulled the old 'don't you know who I am' card until she got inside. The upsides of growing up spoilt and privileged...holy shit, that gives me an idea...

"That's it!" Mallory leapt from her seat. She could have kissed Cordelia in that moment. "You're a genius, that's…God, Cordelia, that could really work."

"I don't-"

"We might not have Madison, but trust me, I know someone just as good. Or bad, sort of. I need to make a call."

"I was in the middle of a very good dream, Mal," came Elizabeth's groggy voice on the end of the line. "Involved a handsome Swiss barista and chocolate syrup. If this isn't an emergency, I'm putting a curse on you."

The lack of concern over Mallory's call was nothing new. The idea of secret phones and only calling in the case of emergencies was long dead – over the past year, their calls to each other had become as frequent as weekly as their long-distance friendship had continued to blossom.

Even the late hour wasn't much of a surprise. Mallory had many talents, but remembering the time difference between the U.S and the U.K wasn't always one of them.

"It's an emergency. Promise. Is the barista real though? If so, I do want to hear more about him later."

"He's real. He makes the worst Masala chai you'll ever taste, but he looks like a Calvin Klein model," Elizabeth sighed wistfully. "Is the world ending yet? Is there still time to, uh, get a taste of that Swiss roll before we die, or he gets fired? I give him until the end of the week."

"Priorities in order, I see. The world isn't ending yet, but some bad shit is happening, and I need your help. You remember I told you about Michael being taken?"

"The mysterious Michael. Yes, I remember."

"Okay, well, he's still missing. I've got a lead, but it's not exactly easy to follow up. Any chance you know anyone who might have connections to the Church of Satan? Specifically, a chapter in LA?"

"The church of what now?" Elizabeth suddenly sounded very awake. "Satan? As in the devil, Satan?"

"Unless you know another Satan, yeah, the devil, Satan."

"We have our own Gods, Mal, the devil isn't exactly our thing. Also, Satan just isn't really my cup of tea in general."

"I know, but there's more to it than that – it's kind of part of a bigger thing, a lot of rich and powerful people are connected to the church through, like, a sort of VIP doomsday club. Back in the other timeline, it was called the Cooperative, and there were a few of your people in it. I need to know when the next members-only service is on."

"Hmm. That sounds vaguely familiar. I know we've got a few Illuminati, and they've just undertaken a bit of a, uh, rebrand, I suppose you'd call it. As much of a rebrand as a secret club for rich arseholes can have, anyway. Could be connected. I'll ask around."

"I appreciate it." Now for the big ask. "Speaking of rich assholes...once we know when the service is, we need to get in and start asking questions, and there's no way I'm getting in there on my own. I need someone who can be a little more convincingly, um...like you."

"Like me?"

"Like your worst self. I mean that in the nicest possible way." Mallory's voice was sweeter than honey, which, she realised too late, was far less appealing to her pain-loving friend than the anxious tone she was doing her best to stifle. "Can you come here? Well, not here, here, but to LA?"

"Mallory, you know I would love to come over and mess with some devil-worshippers, but Siobhan's only just joined us and things are...complicated here at the moment."

"Bring Siobhan. Finn too, we could use all the power we can get right now." God, how I want to see his face again. "Please, Elle, it's important."

Elizabeth exhaled forcefully. "Mal..."

"Don't make me beg."

"Well...if I can bring Siobhan and Finn...and I really could do with a break from Oskar, we're at each other's throats constantly. Some distance mightn't be such a bad thing..."

"So, you'll come?" Mallory's heart was pounding with excitement.

"Argh. Yes. I'll come, but if I'm giving up my shot with the barista, you'd better make this worth my while," Elizabeth teased.

"Elle, if we pull this off and find Michael, I'll do you myself if you want."

"I've had worse offers."

"I believe you. I saw some of your exes during the last apocalypse."

"Are you sure you're not a big enough bitch for the Church of Satan?"

Mallory laughed. This feels good. They're actually coming. Elle can finally meet Cordelia. I can see Finn again. We'll get Michael back, and things will be okay.

Mallory's dwindling spark of hope roared back to life again. They would get through this, together.

They didn't waste any time. Two days after Mallory's call, the Tuatha Dé Danann trio touched down at LAX.

Seeing them all together again, looking so young and beautiful and alive, had been surreal. Mallory had almost forgotten just how breathtaking they were.

So beautiful. How could anyone bear to cut Finn's head off, or let Elizabeth be ripped apart? God, those sounds...would Michael do that to them? Stop it, Mallory.

She caught Elizabeth's eye from a few feet away, and felt her negativity wash away as the other woman broke out into an enormous, beaming grin. Almost unconsciously, they both broke into a semi-jog, embracing each other warmly as they met in the middle.

"It's so good to see you," Mallory choked out, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes and trying valiantly to blink them away. This level of physical affection between them had been rare in previous timeline, but the younger version of her friend was less battle-hardened, and Mallory was all too willing to take advantage of it. They were family, and she had missed them so much that some days it was like a physical ache she couldn't shake off.

"You too." Elizabeth pulled back to look at Mallory, still unable to wipe the smile off her face. "You're glowing. Being a fully-fledged witch suits you."

"Ha. That's the work of some beauty potions, and some fancy moisturiser I can't really afford, but..." Mallory shrugged modestly. "Look at you though! You look amazing."

"It helps that I'm not quite such a confused mess as the first time we met – well, not the first first time, but, oh, you know what I mean. And thank you." Elizabeth suddenly noticed Finn and Siobhan had appeared next to them. "Oh, I'm sorry, it was rude of me to run off like that. Finn, Siobhan, this is Mallory - I suppose introduce is the wrong word here..."

"This is so weird," Siobhan chimed in. "So you actually know us from like, another time?"

"I guess Elle's filled you in a bit. Yes, I do know you," Mallory beamed. "Seeing all of you again...it's...it's amazing." She was tearing up again, and rather ineffectively tried to wipe at her eyes before they noticed.

"Ha. Well then, come here old friend!" Finn pulled her into a big bear hug, letting her discreetly dry her eyes against him.

Even when he doesn't know who I am, he's still looking out for me.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure," he gave her one of those grins that always left her feeling a little weak. Even at 20, he had a certain confidence about him that elevated him from handsome to just about irresistible in Mallory's eyes.

Deal with your lust later. You've got work to do.

"Let's head to the hotel. We can talk more there."

They had stayed up talking and making plans in Mallory's hotel room until sunrise. It took her back to nights at the Pittock Mansion when they would sit together in the war room, plotting their next move against Devan, and sharing stories of their lives pre-apocalypse. The mood, thankfully, was considerably lighter than it was most nights in Portland.

As their plans went, this one wasn't all that bad. They had a date for the church's next Black Mass courtesy of one of Finn's contacts – the Tuatha Dé Danann were loyal to themselves first and foremost, and so the contact in question hadn't thought twice about giving up the information in exchange for a blessing or two. For the most part, Mallory wasn't sure if she found their tribalism admirable or concerning, but even she had to admit it had been extremely helpful this time around.

Elizabeth had offered to go in alone, but for safety's sake they had decided they would be better going in as a group. They doubted it would raise eyebrows, given spoiled little rich girls were always at their most demonic when surrounded by their mean-girl entourage. Once they were in, they'd work the congregation.

When they had a lead, Mallory would use the lie detection powers she'd learned from Myrtle Snow to gather intel on Miriam Mead, before making the target forget they'd ever spoken. Painless, bloodless, and subtle. Exactly the kind of plan Mallory liked best.

Please, let this go right. We get in, we get out, and we get Michael.

Retrieving Michael was the part of the plan Mallory was less confident about. She had yet to tell the others who he truly was – they were aware he was magically gifted and very powerful, but 'Antichrist' was a word Mallory just couldn't bring herself to say. She knew what the reaction to that particular revelation would be, and she knew how the Tuatha Dé Danann dealt with those they considered enemies. Keeping Michael alive was imperative, even if it meant being selective with the truth. She just hoped Cordelia's dupe of the potion that had knocked them out back in New Orleans worked, and saved her having to fully explain things until they were safely back at Miss Robichaux's.

Worry about it later. Rest, now.

Mallory looked around the room and smiled softly when she noticed Finn and Siobhan were already asleep, dozing on opposite sides of the large bed. Elizabeth was sat nearby in a plush armchair, looking not far off sleep either, but Mallory knew she'd stay awake until everyone was out.

Elizabeth had admitted once that she vastly preferred to sleep alone, and had never slept in the same room as another and allowed herself to sleep first. It wasn't a rational thing, she had said, it was something that had started in her childhood and become an ingrained habit. She thought it was a response to her mother's death – her earliest memory of it happening was on the way back from her mother's wake, in the backseat of a taxi with her father, and feeling an intense anxiety as he tried to settle her to sleep.

Mallory personally thought it was the subconscious defence mechanism of a little girl who knew, deep down, it wasn't safe to be in vulnerable position around her father. That was a psychological scab that wasn't hers to pick though, so she kept her mouth shut. Still, it made her sad to see her friend so hesitant to let her guard down, even in a room full of people who cared for her.

Does she know how much I care, though? Does she really care?

"Hey," Mallory spoke softly. "Thank you again for coming. It means a lot." 

Elizabeth smiled back at her. "What are friends for?"

"I know it's way too late...or early...to ask you this, but...why are you my friend?"

"Hmm?"

"When I called you, after we met in 2014...why did you talk to me? I was just some weird stranger to you."

"Ah. Well, it's pure self-interest. I have to know how you get those effortless looking waves in your hair. Once I know your secret, I'm dumping you."

"I'll never tell," Mallory couldn't help but grin. "But seriously. I know you well enough to know that friendly isn't exactly your go-to."

Elizabeth chuckled softly. "I guess I didn't change that much between timelines, then. But honestly? Besides your pain sounding better than phone sex, I spoke to you because you were...safe, I suppose. You were as messed up and confused as I was, and you were half a world away – I could talk to you, and I didn't have to see you the next day and feel like maybe you were judging me.

"Plus, the things you were telling me didn't sound so crazy after I was a little more used to the idea of magic and, you know-" she waved her hands, "the rest of it. Time travel's not so far-fetched after you've made a few sacrifices in the name of your Goddess and seen some, ah, interesting results."

"I'm glad you think I'm sane these days."

"I wouldn't go that far."

Mallory lobbed a decorative cushion at her friend's head, missing by half an inch. "Ooh, you're lucky."

"I am, actually," Elizabeth's voice was suddenly serious. "I'm glad we're friends, Mal. Even if you weren't there beside me, you've still been there for me in a way no-one else really has. Finn's amazing, of course, but he doesn't know what it's like to be so...scared, sometimes. You though...you get it. I wish I remembered our other life, but I'm lucky I have you in this one."

"Well, shit," Mallory felt her throat tightening. "That was..."

"Cheesy, I know. I meant it though."

"It was sweet. I feel the same. I love you, Elle."

"I love you too, Mallory," the declaration was punctuated with a yawn. "God, we must be tired, listen to us getting all emotional."

"Yeah, we should sleep." Mallory sank down into her own chair, which was more comfortable than it looked. "We've got a big day tomorrow. Goodnight, Elle."

"Night, Mal. Sleep tight."

They arrived at the church at midnight two days later, dressed, in Mallory's opinion, exactly as you'd imagine a group of young Satanists to be dressed. Clad in top to toe black, with vampy red lips for the girls and heavy eyeliner for everyone, they looked like a group of rather stylish Goths. She hoped it wasn't too cliché, but then she didn't think Satanic fashion trends had changed much in, well, forever.

The guard at the door regarded them with a flicker of interest as they approached, and Mallory felt her heart start to beat faster.

"Names?"

"Not important," Elizabeth waved dismissively. "Well, not theirs, anyway. I'm Emily Byrne - that's B-Y-R-N-E, by the way, as in the niece of Andrew Byrne?"

"I don't know any Andrew Byrne, and you're not on the member list."

"Seriously? I am a member. London chapter, obviously."

"Well this is America, and you're not on the list."

"Ugh, I don't have time for this," Elizabeth rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. "You can tell my uncle all about your precious list. He's part of this little group, you see, maybe you've heard of them? They're called The Cooperative, and-oh." The guard had opened the door and stood aside. "So you have heard of them. Well, good."

She glanced around at the others, who were also barely concealing their shock at namedropping actually working. "Come on, don't just stand around. Let's go."

Holy shit. We pulled it off. Unless he's onto us, and this is a trap?

It didn't seem to be a trap. People were sat next to each other, laughing and talking animatedly, or mingling happily in the space behind the pews. The atmosphere was one of excitement. It was, strangely enough, a far more upbeat vibe than Mallory had ever experienced at a Christian service.

"This isn't what I expected." Siobhan remarked as she looked around curiously.

"Me either." Finn's voice was almost wondrous. "I think I kind of like it."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, pal!" A very enthusiastic voice rang out. They spun around to see a middle-aged man with a very bushy moustache beaming at them from beneath a red cloak. "I don't think we've met," he held out his hand to Finn. "The name's Buck."

Buck. Of course it is.

"Ah, nice to meet you Buck. I'm…Jon, and this is, um, Dany, and, uh, Margaery, and Emily."

Come on, Finn. Not your best work under pressure.

Luckily Buck didn't seem to pick up on the reference. "That's quite an accent you've got there, Jon. Where're you lot from?"

"The U.K. Well, most of us are. We're on holiday, and thought we'd come and see our first American Black Mass."

"Well, you're in for a real treat. Hi there, ladies," he offered them all a little bow. "wow, you're a bunch of lookers, huh? You're a lucky man Jon – or was this your deal?"

"My deal?"

"With the big guy downstairs!" Buck laughed heartily, clapping Finn on the shoulder. "That's a no then. Ahh, to be young again! But then again, even at your age I didn't have three girls on my arm."

"Oh. No, actually, Emily's the one making the deal." Finn gestured to Elizabeth.

"Oh yeah? And what are you after, honey?"

"I'm going to be an influencer," Elizabeth shot Buck a sultry smile. "But not like, a low grade one, I'm going to be properly famous. I just need a little help getting followers. Real ones. I was talking to this make-up artist I know, who works with the Kardashians, and he told me they all made deals, which is kind of obvious in hindsight...anyway, I figure it's this or Scientology, and this seems like less work."

"And much cheaper," Buck nodded. "I had a real bitch of an ex-wife, so I talked to them Scientologists about stalking her and whatnot, you know, just really giving her hell. They were all for it, but they wanted me to pay 50 large first! Can you believe it? Evil bastards. Anyway, I found this place, and now the bitch is dead." Buck laughed again. "And the Dark Lord didn't charge me a thing!"

"I like that. Money really shouldn't be a barrier to murder. Hey, um...Margaery?" Elizabeth turned to Mallory, "Buck here is being so welcoming, maybe there's a question you'd like to ask him?"

"Ah. Yes." Mallory focused her energy on Buck, until she was certain he was under her spell. "Hey, Buck, can you tell us where to find Miriam Mead?"

"Miriam Mead? I've heard the name - can't say I know where to find her though."

"Who would know?"

"The High Priestess, probably. She knows most ranked members."

"The High Priestess?"

Buck nodded. "She'll be starting the ceremony soon."

"Thank you, that's all for now. You won't remember talking to me."

Buck instantly turned back to Elizabeth. "Well, darlin, I think you'll find just what you're looking for here."

"Thank you, I'm sure I will."

"Come grab a seat over here," Buck pointed to some empty pews a few rows from the front. "You'll want good seats. Hey, where are your cloaks?"

Mallory looked around, and sure enough, the rest of the congregation were wearing long red cloaks. She felt her heart sink.

Shit. Busted.

"Oh. Our cloaks. The bloody airline, they lost some of our luggage. I'd be mad about it, but," Elizabeth shrugged nonchalantly, "baggage handlers are some of the Dark Lord's best work, can't really complain when you're on the receiving end occasionally."

"Ain't that the truth!"

Mallory said a silent prayer of thanks that her friends were better liars than she was.

A choir in the upstairs pews began to sing, signaling the beginning of the Mass. As if prompted by the singing, it began to rain outside. The group of interlopers slid in next to Buck, and watched as a woman in a bright red robe made her way to the front of the room.

"Thank you, as always, the All Sinner's Choir, who once again managed to open the Heavens and give a big FUCK YOU to God himself," she began.

Oh. This is definitely not like any service I've been to with my parents.

"Now we all know tonight is a special night. Tonight, we have some really fantastic sacrifices on offer. Let's meet them!"

Two sobbing older women were dragged in the room, their hands bound and their mouths taped shut.

"Sister Agnes and Sister Bernadette! Both of these 'ladies' have dedicated their lives not only to the service of God, but have really gone the extra fucking mile on the whole helping people shit. In fact, they recently bought a house in the area and converted it into a refuge for women and children escaping domestic violence. Isn't that just about the most sickening shit you've ever heard?"

There was a murmur of disapproval through the congregation.

"That's fucking right. The Dark Lord is really gonna love this one. So, who gets the honour of killing these goody-fucking-two-shoes bitches?"

Mallory's eye widened. Kill them? She can't be serious.

"That would be our newest member, Len," The High Priestess pulled a dagger from her robes and handed it to a short, pasty man, who seemed an equal mixture of nervous and excited. "So, Len, tell us a little about yourself."

As the man began to tell his profoundly mediocre life story, Mallory nudged Elizabeth. 

"We can't let them kill the nuns," she whispered.

"We have to," Elizabeth whispered back. "Can't do anything about it without blowing our cover."

"I can't watch them die."

"So close your eyes. We have a job to do."

It was true, but Mallory couldn't be that cold when it came to human life. She didn't have the stomach for death the Tuatha Dé Danann did. "They're innocents, Elle."

Elizabeth fixed her with an intense glare. "Two people. You told me if we don't find Michael, millions could die. Can't risk it."

"I have to. I have enough death on my conscience."

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm sorry, but I can't let this happen. I need a distraction."

"Fucking hell Mallory, you can't-"

"HEY!" Their conversation was interrupted by the High Priestess, who, to Mallory's horror, was looking directly at them. "Just who the fuck are you people whispering over there?"

She stormed towards them, her eyes narrow with suspicion. "Okay, who's the idiot who let the fucking special edition Barbie and friends Cure concert playset in here? You," she gestured to Mallory. "Who the fuck are you?"

"She's MY guest," Elizabeth answered before Mallory could get the nerve up to speak. "And I don't think my uncle would be very pleased to hear you insulted his niece and her friends, so perhaps you should watch your tone."

There was a nervous muttering from the congregation as the High Priestess turned her attention to Elizabeth, her mouth agape.

"Watch...my...fucking...tone?" she repeated, incredulously. "And who do you think you are, you Snow White looking little bitch?"

"Emily Byrne. My uncle's Andrew Byrne, he's like, your boss or something? Anyway, we were just saying that a sacrifice this good should maybe be reserved for someone a little more, well, worthy than Len, no offence Len."

Len looked very offended.

"Oh really? You telling me how to run my fucking church, huh? So tell me then, missy, since you've got all the answers, who is worthy?"

"Well, me, obviously."

The High Priestess cackled, her sycophantic followers joining in the laughter. Mallory felt herself shrinking in her seat from their scorn.

What have I done? I shouldn't have come here in the first place, I stand out too much. Cordelia was right. Now I've put my friends in danger...

"Okay, I'll humour this shit for a minute," the High Priestess smirked, inches from Elizabeth's face. "Tell me why you deserve it."

"I want to make a deal to become famous. An influencer. Not just any old influencer either, the real fucking deal. And when I'm famous, you know what I'll do? I'll sell those bullshit laxative teas and appetite suppressants.

"I'm already booked in for some lipo, and then I'm getting that fat injected straight in my arse, but I'll lie and say I just did some squats and took diet pills. I'll give a whole generation of girls eating disorders and make them hate themselves.

Then, when I'm practically a household name, I'll introduce my clothing line, make up line, you name it, I'll sell it. And it won't be good stuff, I'll get it made in sweatshops. Polyester clothes and plastic makeup containers too, so that shit will keep destroying the planet long after the dumb little girls who buy it are carted off to the psych ward because my Instagram has destroyed their self-esteem. My one little deal will ruin countless lives, but sure, let's give it to Len so he can get HBO for free or whatever."

It sounded convincing - in Mallory's view, anyway. The High Priestess stood silent for a moment. Mallory's heart was thumping so hard, she thought it would be a miracle if the High Priestess couldn't hear it.

"You know, what, Andy?"

"Emily."

"I don't give a shit what your name is, but that? That was pretty fucking good," a sinister grin spread across her face. "Len! Hand over the knife. You've been bumped."

Len looked crushed, but passed the knife over to one of the men who had dragged the nuns in, who handed it to the High Priestess in turn. Elizabeth rose from the pew with a satisfied smile as Buck shot her a thumbs up.

"You're up, kiddo," she gave Elizabeth the knife. "Enjoy it."

Mallory felt her blood turn cold. She's got a plan, she wouldn't kill them. Would she? Don't do it. Please don't do it.

Finn turned to Mallory, a look of confusion on his face. She shrugged, unsure herself what was happening here.

Elizabeth was making her way to the front of the room now, the nuns watching her and sobbing harder with every step she took.

She paused, then held the knife against her own arm. "Just testing the sharpness," she said through gritted teeth as she ran the blade against her flesh. Blood began to pour from the wound, more than Mallory had anticipated – she'd given herself a decent cut.

"You're more hardcore than I thought, Everly. This little emo chick, cutter vibe you're working isn't half bad."

"Mmm. You know what? I changed my mind. Len, it's all yours." Elizabeth handed Len the knife and Mallory felt a ripple through the room.

Oh.

Len's expression changed from one of confusion to something that looked downright deranged. He gripped the knife hard, turning his gaze to the High Priestess.

"Fuck you, Hannah," he spat as he lunged at her. "This was MY night!"

The knife caught the High Priestess in the abdomen, and she cried out in shock and pain. Len pulled the knife from her body and whirled around, this time driving it into the neck of the man who had brought the nuns.

There were screams from the congregation as Len continued his stabbing spree, and Mallory felt herself being jostled by Buck as he pushed past them in his rush for the exit.

"Mallory," Elizabeth called from ahead as she stood over the writhing, gasping High Priestess. "Probably a good time to do your thing, I think this bitch is dying. Finn, Siobhan, untie the nuns, would you?"

Finn and Siobhan moved without hesitation, so Mallory figured she was safe to do the same. Sure enough, Len passed by her as though she was invisible, saving his blade for his fellow Satanists.

The High Priestess was definitely close to bleeding out. Her complexion had taken on a greyish tinge, her eyes almost unnaturally dark against the pallid flesh. There was no time to waste.

"Tell us where to find Miriam Mead," Mallory commanded, focusing her energy on the dying woman.

The High Priestess gave an address with the same level of venom as if it were an insult.

"Thank you."

"Fuck you. Fucking witches, I should have known. You're not going to stop shit, you know. The end is coming."

"For you it is," Mallory looked over to Finn and Siobhan, who were making their way over with the newly-freed nuns. "Time to go, Elle."

"Agreed. Alright everyone, let's get out of here – don't worry, the man with the knife won't hurt you, he won't even notice you're there," Elizabeth ushered the hesitant nuns towards the exit, where Len was still slashing the parishioners who had failed to make it out in time.

"Who are you people?" One of the trembling sisters asked.

"We're friends, and you're safe." Mallory reassured her.

"Are you angels?"

Siobhan snort-laughed and gestured to her figure, which was already remarkably curvaceous. "Ha! An angel? With a body like this? Not likely."

"Well, whoever you are, thank you. We owe you our lives."

"Keep doing what you're doing for those in need, and we'll call it even," Mallory gave them her most winning smile.

"Bless you, children."

"Keep the blessings coming, sisters, we're going to need them before the night is over," Elizabeth muttered as they made their way out of the church.

"Well this doesn't look good for us," Finn sighed as they reached Miriam Mead's clearly unoccupied home.

"Maybe they're just out?" Siobhan was trying to remain optimistic, but it rang hollow.

"It's past 2am, where would they be?" Elizabeth scowled. "Someone tipped them off."

"They don't have that much of a head start," Mallory could hear the desperation in her own voice. "We could still find them."

"Even if we split up and went in different directions, we wouldn't know where to begin looking," Finn looked at her sympathetically. "Sorry, Mallory. We'll have to think of another way."

"There is no other way! This was our only shot!" Mallory kicked a rock on the lawn and bit back a scream of pure frustration.

"We could check her computer?" Siobhan suggested.

"Her computer? For what?"

"An address search, a hotel booking, email to a friend...?"

"She wouldn't leave that kind of information around."

"Hmm," Finn raised an eyebrow. "How old is this woman?"

"I don't know. Mid 60's, maybe?"

"A boomer!" Elizabeth's scowl transformed into a wry smile. "Boomers don't clear anything, and they don't know how to browse incognito. I was searching for YouTube on my grandfather's iPad once, next thing I knew all his YouPorn search hits were visible. It was, um...niche, let's just say. Couldn't quite look him in the eye for a few weeks after that. Or see his dog's leash in the same way..."

"You know, a leather leash can be-"

"Finn," Mallory interrupted. "This is a story for later. Much later. Right now, we need to check that computer. It's the only lead we've got."

"Right, yeah."

Mallory approached the front door and muttered an incantation. To her surprise and delight, the door swung upon.

Guess she didn't have time to ward the house, or lay any traps for us. A small win, but I'll take it.

The house was surprisingly suburban for a Satanist. Mallory had expected black everything, upside-down crosses, maybe even a small sacrificial altar. She certainly hadn't expected a cozy, eggshell-coloured kitchen, timber furnishings, and decorative vases displayed in the built-in shelves.

The only clue to Ms. Mead's Satanic leanings was a small section behind the dining table, where she had painted a thin strip of wall black and set up a display consisting of red and black candles, a human skull, a picture of the devil and what looked like a craft-store version of a silver pentagram.

"This place is bloody weird, isn't it?" Finn asked incredulously.

"You're not wrong," Mallory agreed.

"Hey, over here." Siobhan beckoned them into a small study just outside of the kitchen. "A desktop PC, she's old school."

"I'll bet you any money her password is Satan," Elizabeth said.

"Nah, she'll have a passcode and it'll be 666," Finn disagreed, pocketing a butcher's knife he'd grabbed from the kitchen.

"Even better, she doesn't have a password or a passcode," Siobhan grinned as she booted the computer up. "We're in. Now, to her history...here we go. 35 minutes ago, a search for a hotel on South Spring St...and it brings up...the Hotel Cortez! Got them!"

Mallory felt her blood run cold.

God, not more repeats. First the Hawthorne repeat, now the same hotel where Queenie died. Not a good place for witches. A place where even Cordelia had little power isn't somewhere I want to be.

"The Hotel Cortez is bad place, guys. Like, pure evil, hellmouth bad. Full of death and pain and suffering. Our light is extinguished there, my powers will be useless. I won't be able to contain Michael if he tries anything."

"Well, fortunately for you we draw our power from a much darker place," Elizabeth exchanged knowing, almost sinister smiles with her fellow Tuatha Dé Danann, and even more so than at the church, Mallory was reminded of just how terrifying they could be. "Pain, suffering and death you say? That should work nicely."

Mallory could smell the evil before she even set foot in the hotel. Once inside, the heavy stench of death and human suffering was so great, she nearly gagged.

Her friends, however, had no such troubles. If anything, their eyes shone a little brighter and their smiles grew a little wider. Mallory hadn't known until then that it was possible to be both simultaneously disturbed and reassured.

They breezed past the check in counter. There was no point in asking if anyone matching Ms. Mead or Michael's description had checked in – if they were given any information at all, it would almost certainly be a trap. They would just have to knock on every door if necessary.

"Anyone else getting a really strong vibe from upstairs?" Finn asked. "There's something bad up there, different from the vibe at the church, but not that different."

"I don't know, my senses are overloaded right now," Elizabeth bit her lower lip. "I feel like I'm on Adderall or something, this place is unbelievable."

"I'll clear some of the spirit energies, that should help us focus." Siobhan chanted something in Gaelic, and the air instantly felt lighter. Mallory took a deep breath, grateful for the temporary respite. Elizabeth, by contrast, looked a little disappointed.

"Definitely something upstairs. Let's check it out." Finn steered them into a beautiful, art-deco elevator. "Follow my lead."

They made their way down the corridor until they reached room 78.

"Here." Finn actually looked a little hesitant. "This room has seen a lot of death, so let's all just watch ourselves."

Mallory wasn't sure what she expected to see when Finn opened the door, but a nice looking, well-dressed young man with a Clark Gable style moustache seated at a small table wasn't it. He looked back at them, just as surprised as they were.

"Well, I say," his clipped accent reminded Mallory a bit of Charles Winchester from M*A*S*H. "What interesting creatures. You're almost certainly a witch, and a powerful one at that," he grinned rakishly at Mallory, "but you three," he gestured to Finn, Siobhan and Elizabeth, "I've not met your kind before."

"Who are you?" Finn asked. "You're not alive, I can sense that much."

"Why, I'm the original owner of this hotel! James Patrick March is my name, and I must say," he walked up to Elizabeth and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss, "it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The original owner of the hotel? You mean the serial killer who built this place?" Mallory pulled her hand back as he approached to greet her.

"We must all have hobbies outside of work, my dear."

"Killing people is not a hobby."

"It isn't for long if you're no good at it."

Siobhan and Elizabeth laughed a little at that, and Mallory shot them a thoroughly disapproving look.

"Tell me, lovely ladies, what are your names?" March was focused on the Tuatha Dé Danann girls now.

"I'm Siobhan, and this is Elizabeth,," Siobhan batted her lashes, and Mallory felt her stomach turn.

"Elizabeth," March all but purred. "You know, the last Elizabeth I knew, I married. It didn't work out so well, but I am more than willing to see if second time is the charm…"

"No." Both Finn and Mallory said simultaneously, earning a glare from Elizabeth.

"Well, Siobhan, I suppose that leaves just you and I-"

"Whoa, no, she's underage," Elizabeth interrupted.

"That's your biggest problem with him hitting on her? Not that he's a sadistic mass murderer?"

"Nobody's perfect, Mal."

"Or that he's dead himself?"

"Can you have sex with a ghost?" Siobhan asked.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but we've actually had this conversation before..."

"I can assure you, my dear, you absolutely can," March looked far too pleased with himself for Mallory's liking.

"Surely it doesn't count as necrophilia if it's a ghost you're having sex with, rather than a corpse?" Elizabeth mused.

"Oh, I'm a live one where it counts."

"Oh my God, Elle. You were attracted to some questionable men during the apocalypse, but I think we may have just hit a new low."

"The lady likes what she likes," March grinned wolfishly. "And there's no need to be rude about it. As far as witches go, you're a rather scrumptious little piece yourself…"

"Okay, we've heard enough," Finn's usual good-natured demeanour had been replaced by something more hostile. "Let's go, we're getting nothing useful from a horny ghost."

"Well now, just wait a minute, sir," March interjected. "Just what was it you were hoping to learn?"

"We're looking for someone," Siobhan answered. "His name is Michael, and he's here with an older woman."

"Lucky Michael."

"Not like that," Mallory rolled her eyes. "She's holding him captive, sort of. She's in her 60's, short black hair, loves Satan, and he's blonde, handsome, very powerful...have you seen them?"

"Now that you mention it, I did catch a glimpse of a most extraordinary young man, not even an hour ago. Exceptional, he was – living, but so well acquainted with the dead you would think he wasn't entirely of this realm." March raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I could help you find him...for a price."

"We're not making any deals with you," Finn frowned. "Come on, let's leave."

"I could always let him know to expect you. One of the benefits of being dead, you see – I don't need a room key."

Mallory sighed heavily. "What do you want?"

"One of you young ladies to join me for a late dinner," March smiled. "I don't mind which of you."

"Not me," Mallory was quick to remove herself from consideration. "And Elle, I need you in case things get dicey with Michael."

"Ah, then the beautiful Siobhan it is!"

"Are you alright with that?" Elizabeth asked the younger woman.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Siobhan smiled. "Besides, I could eat."

"Excellent, my dear. I'll have the kitchen send up the best they have to offer - such an exquisite creature deserves only the finest." March flirted shamelessly.

"Ugh," Finn made his displeasure clear. "Alright, now your end of the bargain. Where's Michael?"

"Room 64, my old office, as it were. There's a key to it in the second drawer of the right bedside table."

Mallory grabbed the key as Siobhan settled into her seat opposite March. "Great. Siobhan, we'll be back for you soon, so don't get too comfortable."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Siobhan smirked as her friends left the room.

They entered the room so quietly that Miriam Mead didn't know they were there until Finn had the butcher's knife pressed to her throat.

"Don't move a fucking muscle, or you'll be meeting the devil sooner than you imagined," he whispered. "Where's Michael?"

"Bathroom."

Mallory gave Elizabeth a brief nod, and both women moved into position on opposite sides of the bathroom door, giving the immediate entrance a wide berth to avoid too much blowback from Cordelia's potion. Mallory shot Finn a thumbs up.

"Okay, call him out," he instructed Ms. Mead.

"Michael? Could you come out here for a moment?"

"Just a second," Michael called from the bathroom, and Mallory's throat went dry.

We really found him. Holy shit, we did it.

"Okay, how do I lo –?" The door swung open and Michael stepped out, dressed sharply in a black suit with red embellishments on his black shirt. His expression quickly turned from one of satisfaction to one of horror as he spotted Finn, his blade pressed firmly against Ms. Mead's flesh. "What the –?"

Mallory leapt into action, throwing the potion with enough force that the bottle shattered at his feet, the contents exploding in a haze of grey smoke. Both she and Elizabeth instinctively covered their noses and mouths to ensure they weren't accidentally affected.

Perfect shot.

The smoke cleared and Mallory's stomach twisted itself into knots so bad she thought she might be sick.

Michael stood, perfectly upright and unaffected, his gaze cold and fixed firmly on her.

"Mallory. That was very unwise."


End file.
